


The Oasis in You

by dopekanna



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Persona AU, Pre-Relationship, Rating for Language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2018-11-09 02:42:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 31,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11095221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dopekanna/pseuds/dopekanna
Summary: Symmetra is Vishkar's finest clandestine agent, working to further the corporation's goals.  Satya is an architech who wants to bring order to a chaotic disaster of a world.  The woman in white and gold that sits upside down in Satya's dreams wants to be heard.  When Symmetra joins Overwatch on a covert mission to bring down the organization and a certain Brazilian revolutionary along with it, Satya discovers a power locked in the depths of her soul and must face herself and her history in order to protect herself and the people she is growing to love.tl;dr did someone say symmarah ft. Persona AU? (prior knowledge of Persona/SMT franchise not required)





	1. It's a Bad Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there aren't enough fics in the symmarah tag
> 
> chapter title from: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WbLoYVnh4sY

Satya wakes up in her apartment in Utopaea, a place most unexpected given that she fell asleep in a hotel room in Iraq. She sits up on her bed and notices that the hard-light stool in front of her dresser is missing again. Satya twists to her left, towards the door to her bedroom, and finds the stool on the ceiling in front of the door, with a woman sitting on it as if gravity reversed itself just for her. The woman is clad in a bizarre dress of blue, white, and gold that wouldn’t look out of place in a Hollywood sci-fi movie. Her helmet obscures most of her face, showing only her scowling mouth. The pale green scarf flowing out from under the helmet barely grazes the floor. Satya knows how this dream goes. 

_I am thou…_

Satya has had this dream every few nights for several years now. She lets her subconscious run its course. 

_Thou art I…_

The furniture disappears first, deconstructing itself like paper cranes being undone back to square pieces of paper, and then dissolving into the air. Satya gets out of her bed as it too unravels. Then, the ceiling folds into itself and disappears, as do the walls, until all that is left is the white, empty expanse of nothingness, the bedroom door, and the woman sitting upside down. 

_From the sea of thy soul, I come…_

Satya stands in front of the woman and waits to hear the last line from the woman who never opens her mouth yet speaks with such force in her mind. As usual, she will black out right before the woman can finish. She will wake up in her hotel room in Iraq in five seconds. 

“I do not enjoy being ignored, Symmetra.” 

Satya stands and stares at the woman blankly. She will wake up now. 

“Symmetra?” 

Satya startles a little bit and blinks, realizing that the woman is _speaking_. 

“Did you hear me, Symmetra? I do not enjoy being ignored. It would be most appreciated if you could listen to me – or yourself, technically – at least every now and then.” 

“I don’t understand your complaint,” Satya replied, “I have never heard you say anything besides ‘I am thou, thou art I – ‘“ 

“Even more evidence that you are not listening to me,” the woman interrupted, “I _am_ thou, and vice versa. When you ignore, repress, reject yourself, you do the same to me, and you have been ignoring your intuition for a while. It tires me. You walk this path that will lead you to ruin, yet you are deaf to the screams from your own soul. You know what you are doing is wrong.” 

“We are making the world a better place,” Satya replies curtly. 

“Then why do you say it without pride? Is there something that makes you hesitate? Do you fear fire?” 

“We are making the world a better place!” Satya yells at the woman. 

“The flaming rubble of Calado marred an angel’s face, but who caused the building to fall into the favelas?” 

Satya looks away from the woman, head bowed and bottom lip tense. 

“Symmetra, because I am thou, and thou art I, I too believe in the work of Vishkar, but we are also equally capable at connecting the dots. It will only become more difficult to justify your actions moving forward. When you are in a situation where your intuition tells you to defy orders, summon me from the sea of thy soul and I will assist you.” 

“How helpful. My dream tells me to summon an imaginary woman that claims to be me yet does not even refer to me by my name.” 

“My gods,” the woman sighs, putting her hand to her helmet, “I try to help you, but you really are stubborn, Symmetra. I am thou. Thou art I. We are Satya Vaswani. But you are Symmetra, and I am…well, you already know who I am.” 

“No, I don’t. I wake up before you can tell me,” Satya replies. 

“You’ve known my name for a very long time, though. Use your intuition. You’ll need it very soon.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“It means it’s time for you to wake up. See you soon, Symmetra,” the woman says, her voice distorting as if the woman was underwater. The vast emptiness fades into black, and Satya awakens alone in her hotel room in Oasis. _Correction_ , she tells herself: _motel room on the outskirts of Oasis, shared with Lena_. Satya wishes she could go back to sleep. 

\---

It started after Rio. After Vishkar’s attempts to clean up the city. After the people rallied behind their frog-themed DJ Robin Hood and drove progress out of the city. After Lúcio Correia dos Santos, Brazilian revolutionary and world-famous EDM musician, joined forces with a barely resuscitated Overwatch.  


Satya remembers the emergency meeting the COO arranged after Lúcio joined Overwatch. Several other clandestine agents and their superiors had been gathered together in a dark conference room at Vishkar Headquarters in shining, glorious Utopaea. There had been arguments, accusations, anguish, and all the other emotions that come with the realization that Vishkar’s greatest enemy joined forces with the most skilled vigilante group on Earth. But Vishkar was a corporation of the greatest engineers, scientists, and architechs in the world, and together they planned. How does a corporation become a counterinsurgency? It does as its enemy does; fool the heroes into becoming the villains, and eviscerate their organization from the inside out. Talon did it once; why can’t Vishkar?  


Of course, someone had to infiltrate Overwatch. Regular reconnaissance was out of the question; even when run with a skeleton crew, active Watchpoints had security measures second only to the God AI. Then, why not join the heroes? Who could gain Overwatch’s trust? Should someone work under the guise that they’ve defected from Vishkar? No, they would undoubtedly be under surveillance to make sure they weren’t a mole. Communication with Vishkar would be nearly impossible, and Overwatch would pounce on any lingering ties to the corporation.  


Satya can’t recall who proposed the idea that would be the basis for Vishkar’s solution to the Overwatch problem. She can certainly recall the silence that followed the proposal, and the arguments that followed, and the complaints that gradually transformed into murmurs of agreement. Several (many) of those complaints were hers, but even Satya was persuaded into believing the viability of the plan, as absurd as it was. After all, who would think that walking up to Overwatch’s door and asking to join as a representative of Vishkar would work? Yet, a Vishkar employee in Overwatch could be allowed to communicate with the corporation to provide progress reports. A Vishkar employee would have unparalleled access to Overwatch’s movements. A Vishkar employee could let their superior know when a certain Brazilian revolutionary was in a certain city at a certain set of coordinates at a certain time.  


The rest of that meeting blends together into an incongruous monologue in Satya’s memories. There was to be a drive of incriminating data against Vishkar leaked to Overwatch. Vishkar would trade an agent or two and public support for Overwatch in exchange for silence. Despite her protests, Satya ended up being chosen for the role of playing olive branch for the Vishkar dove. The meeting ends, and the plan is put into motion.  


Somehow (miraculously, Satya thinks), it all works, and months later, Satya wakes up from one bad dream to another in a cheap motel room in Oasis. _I’m making the world a better place_ , she thinks to herself as she tries to fall back asleep. _I’m making the world a better place_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll try to update this biweekly


	2. Target

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we meet more of the gang and everyone needs sleep

It is said that an 18th-century American historical figure coined the proverb, “In this world nothing can be said to be certain, except death and taxes.” 300 years after those famous words were printed, Satya felt that an addendum was necessary: In this world, nothing can be said to be certain, except death, taxes, and irritating alarm clock sounds, particularly those of the marimba kind. She had been trying to go back to sleep for the past several minutes after waking up from that cryptic dream, but her 5:00 A.M. alarm currently has a different agenda. The woman begrudgingly rolls over in the bed to her tablet on the bedside table to turn off her alarm, but she notices an email notification flash on the screen. 

\---

_Sent at: 10:07 P.M. UTC +5:30 yesterday_  
_From: Sanjay Korpal_  
_To: Satya Vaswani_  
_Re: Status Update_

 _Understood. Next update expected at 5:00 P.M. your time._

\---

Satya turns off her tablet screen and lifts herself up to a sitting position on her bed. She takes the prosthetic arm next to her phone and attaches it to the socket where her shoulder should be. The electronic lock to the door to the room makes a beeping noise and the door swings open. The woman who enters walks like Lena Oxton, talks like Lena Oxton, but does not look like Lena Oxton. Her hair is red instead of a chestnut brown and does not spike up with the support of what Satya suspects is an unhealthy amount of hairspray. In place of the iconic bomber jacket and matching orange goggles and morph suit, this woman wears a simple white t-shirt with an “I <3 London” graphic, jeans, and a red track hoodie. Her chrono accelerator is tucked away in her black backpack, quietly keeping Lena Oxton alive and well in this timeline. 

“Mornin’, luv, sleep well?” Lena asks as she sets down a paper bag on her bed. Satya manages a tired groan as she rubs the sleep out of her eyes. She didn’t mind Lena, although her boundless energy and rapid-fire conversations sometimes wore out Satya. 

“As well as I could. These beds are not very comfortable,” Satya replies. 

“Haha, spot on! I think I still feel some cricks in my back,” Lena laughs out, “By the way, I got us some breakfast. I’ve got kahi and gaimar – kahi’s a type of bread, gaimar’s clotted cream – some granola bars and bagels – couldn’t find any cream cheese though – and your choice of orange or apple juice.” 

“Thank you. Have we gotten any communication from the others?” 

“The boss checked in with me this morning, said everything’s going as planned. The agenda he sent us before we left is still good.” 

Satya takes her tablet and searches for the email with the mission plan as Lena digs into a bagel. 

\---

__

_Sent at: 7:00 A.M. GMT +2 two days ago_  
_From: Winston_  
_To: Lúcio, Hanzo, Symmetra, Tracer_  
_Subject: Oasis mission recap_  
_Attachments: map.png, floorplan.png_

_All,_

_Athena has determined that the Karim Enterprises tower in Oasis holds several dummy companies that are tied to Talon._  
_Mission objective: Infiltrate Karim Enterprises tower in Oasis to gather Talon data._  
_Mission plan overview:_  
_• Agents arrive in pairs by different methods of transportation as determined in the meeting. Use codenames assigned._  
_• Agents swap partners, gather intel before infiltration. Hanzo and Symmetra will scope out the tower, Lúcio and Tracer will gather badges or IDs to enter offices without arousing suspicion._  
_• 10:00 P.M. your time, Symmetra will enter the tower and set up teleporter. Find as much as you can within three hours or without being compromised, whichever is shorter. Floor plan of Karim Enterprises tower is attached. Focus on the floors marked on the plan._  
_• Leave through the path designated on the map attached._

_Good luck, agents._

_Winston_

\---

“By the way, Hanzo’ll text us when he and Lúcio land – oi, don’t look at me like that! I know you don’t like him, but it’s only one day.” 

“’Don’t like him’ is an understatement, but I will do my best to not work against him.” 

“Satya!” 

“I am a professional, Lena. I will not sabotage the mission.” _Liar_ , a familiar voice says in her mind. _You doomed Lúcio when you leaked the mission plan to Vishkar yesterday. Tonight’s going to be – oh, what’s the phrase he uses? Ah, yes, it’s going to be one hell of a shitshow._

“That’s good to hear,” Lena says with a beaming smile, “Alright now, let’s eat!” 

The duo has their breakfast in their dim, shabby motel room and gets ready for the day. Lena saves some granola bars and juice for the other half of their team’s breakfast. Right before they leave the room for check-out, Satya waves her hand a little and several hard light constructs covering hidden microphones dissolve. She knows Oasis is only as safe as it is because its people have traded privacy for safety. The pair check out of the motel, load their gear into their silver rental hovercar, and drive off towards the airport. As Lena merges the car onto the highway, Satya creates hundreds of tiny hard light bugs in the palm of her prosthetic hand. They scurry off her and down into the car, checking for bugs of the microphone kind. Within minutes, Satya has found every mic in the vehicle and has covered them with a hard light cover that transmits fake audio to the Oasis PD. 

“Thanks for doin’ that, luv, really takes off a lot of stress,” Lena sighs, sinking into her seat, “Unfortunate we can’t do that when we actually get there. It’s going to be a problem when we actually get into the tower.” 

“On the contrary, certain real estate zoned for business or corporate use are exempt from the bug policy,” Satya replies as she turns on her tablet and pulls up a picture of the tower, “The Karim Enterprises tower has claimed that exemption, much to our benefit.” 

“Huh, guess I missed that bit in the floor plans or that meeting. Good to know. By the way, you got what you need for the airport?” 

“Of course,” Satya replies, and she swipes several times on her tablet before stopping on a page with two names. Hayate Yamasaki (world-class archer, yakuza born and bred, possibly a dragon) and Carmo Coelho (international celebrity, leader of a popular uprising, living example of the phrase “skate or die”). 

Lena sighs, “I still don’t think Lúcio looks like a Carmo. It’s like Athena just used a fancy random name generator. I mean, do I really look like a Brittney to you?” 

“Perhaps. You look completely different with red hair, Mrs. Brittney Warren.” 

“And I don’t think Hayate and Carmo will recognize you with short hair, Ms. Leela Korrapati.” 

“At least you don’t share a name with someone who wants to take your job.” 

“Wait, is this the Satya Vaswani gossiping about her co-workers? Luv, it’s a Christmas miracle! What’s this thing you have against this Leela?” 

“Later. You’re going to miss the exit for the airport.” 

Satya drowns out Lena’s pestering as they approach the airport parking lot. Lena stays in the car to keep an eye on their weapons while Satya enters Mehmet Farhat International Airport. While the outside of the airport appears to be a single, golden, radiant disk, the terminal Satya walks through is decorated almost entirely in marble. She weaves through the throngs of passengers and approaches the arrivals lane, which is, to her relief, not quite as crowded. A few minutes after she arrives, her tablet shows a text from Hanzo: Landed. She holds the sign with the two names towards the arrivals lane, becoming just another person waiting for someone. 

Minutes later, people begin streaming into the terminal. Satya passes her eyes over families, couples, businessmen, and crew until at last, she spots her targets strolling their luggage behind them. Hayate Yamasaki proudly strides through the lane, eyes darting from person to person. His hair is down (it’s much spikier than Satya thought) and he is wearing a navy button down that covers his tattoo, black slacks, and black leather dress shoes. A poor choice of wardrobe for a late-spring desert environment, Satya thinks. Carmo Coelho walks slowly behind him, his eyes bloodshot and his mouth in an unusual scowl. He wears better clothing for the weather: a red t-shirt, white cargo shorts, sandals, and naturally, he also has a pair of green headphones around his neck. His hair has been dyed black and tied into a bun, making him almost completely unrecognizable from his celebrity appearance. As the pair approach Satya, she also realizes that they have shaved their faces clean. 

“Leela Korrapati?” Hanzo asks her. 

“Correct. It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Yamasaki, Mr. Coelho,” Satya replies, nodding towards the pair. She doesn’t miss the quick but extremely tired glare “Carmo” gives her. For a moment, Satya is genuinely worried for his health (did he get any sleep?), but she quickly pushes that thought out of her mind. In the end, this man is her enemy. 

“Where’s Brittney?” Lúcio asks. 

“Waiting with our transportation. Please follow me,” Satya replies coolly as she turns around to escort the pair. The trio exit the airport without incident, and make their way to the hovercar. Lena is leaning against the car, staring up at the lights of the planes descending to the runway. She leans forward and sees her teammates approaching her, and waves to her colleagues. Hanzo and Lúcio greet her and load their luggage as Lena goes back to the driver’s seat, Satya sitting beside her again. The men get into the backseat, Lúcio behind Satya, Hanzo behind Lena. Lúcio immediately slouches down and rests his head against the back of Satya’s seat, in direct contrast to Hanzo’s ramrod straight seated position. Lena hands Hanzo the leftovers of the women’s breakfast, then starts the car and pulls out of the parking lot. 

“What time is it,” Lúcio groans in a deadpan tone as he reaches towards the bag of food. 

“5:30 A.M.” Hanzo replies as he hands Lúcio a granola bar and glances at the clock on the dashboard, “Oasis is notorious for its early morning congestion, hence why we arrived so early.” 

“I do not understand why the Ministries of Oasis do not put more resources into its transportation,” Satya says as she pulls up a detailed map of the city on her tablet, “Vishkar could easily remedy this. This congestion could be resolved with the construction of two more lanes on the highway we are currently on, and at least one extra lane on the other expressways into the city. Furthermore, if the current elevated rail line in the city was replaced with a faster hard-light rail line, and several stops were added to connect to residential areas, public transit could remove a small, but nevertheless significant portion of the congestion. Also, near the Abu Hassoun Gardens - “ 

“Vaswani, please tell us all about Vishkar’s gradual infiltration into yet another city when the sun is in the sky,” Lúcio interrupts, “And after I’ve had something to eat, too.” 

“Oh Lúcio, don’t be like that,” Lena sighs, “That’s Satya’s line of work and she loves that kind of stuff, and as the one driving this car, I’m really wishing we had those two extra lanes right now. It’s stopped still and we’re barely off the exit ramp from the airport.” 

Hanzo and Lúcio peer out the front windshield to see that traffic is in fact at a standstill hours before the sun will come up. Hanzo lets out a nearly inaudible sigh and takes out a bottle of orange juice from the bag of food. Lúcio sinks a little lower into his seat and groans. 

“Wake me up when we get there,” Lúcio mutters as he passes out, half-eaten granola bar in hand. 

“Alright, Hayate, Leela, here’s your stop! Check in with us at the university at the time we agreed on, okay?” Lena says as she swerves into a parking spot on the street in front of a hotel near the city center. Satya checks the time: 8:00 A.M. It took them two and a half hours to travel 40 kilometers; congestion in Oasis was much worse than she thought. Vishkar could do great things in this city. 

“Make sure Carmo is alive when you get to your location,” Hanzo says as he gets out of car and stretches his legs. 

“Are – are you making a joke, Hayate? An honest to God joke? That isn’t a jab against you-know-who? That’s two miracles in one day, I must be right blessed today!” Tracer laughs. Hanzo ignores her while Satya silently slips out of the car and puts on a pair of large sunglasses. 

“Mr. Yamasaki, shall we be going?” Satya asks. Hanzo walks around the car to meet her and the pair walks away from the car. Lena drives off once they leave her sight. 

“Two miracles?” Hanzo says quietly as the pair walk towards the city center. 

“Nothing that you need to know,” Satya replies a little too quickly. 

Hanzo grunts in displeasure as he and Satya enter the city center. Satya is immediately entranced by the beauty of the city. Cream colored buildings decorated with blue and bronze patterns glow under the light of the morning sun. Business workers, scientists, engineers, students, and every other kind of professional possible crowd the plaza as they head to work or class. Conversation is light but swift, a pleasant buzz filling the center. It is crowded, but not rowdy; there is an atmosphere of calm focus, each person headed somewhere specific with an equally specific goal in mind. In Satya’s words: perfect harmony. 

A flurry of Japanese snaps Satya out of her internal musing. She looks to Hanzo and finds him in conversation with an omnic in the city worker uniform, gesturing to the top of the pagoda in the center of the area. Satya looks towards where Hanzo is pointing and realizes that the roof of the pagoda is covered with garlands of flowers in all sorts of hues (how did she miss those?). Banners are being mounted onto the walls of the structure surrounding the city center by other workers, human and omnic. Just outside the city center, a gigantic string of lights is being slowly unfurled and tied around a nearby tower. Hanzo finishes his conversation with the worker and walks up to Satya. 

“The decorations are for a festival tonight,” Hanzo says, “He said that it was quite the event.” 

“For what?” Satya replies as she bends down to pick up an orange petal from the ground. The last time she saw such an enormous number of flowers was during the holidays when she was a child in Hyderabad over 20 years ago. 

“Apparently, it’s a sort of graduation/semester’s end celebration. The university students have been running the festival for the past three years. This year there are supposed to be some Japanese vendors I know personally,” Hanzo continues, “When we are done, perhaps we will have enough time to enjoy the celebrations a little – “ 

“Hayate, you just want tea and alcohol,” Satya deadpans. 

Hanzo looks away from Satya with a “tch” and walks away from her quickly. Satya has the faintest of smiles on her face as she stands up and follows him out of the city center. They board a bus to Karim Enterprises and arrive at the tower ten minutes later. Like many buildings in the area, the brass and glass tower dazzles with blue electronic displays promoting Karim Enterprises products and services. Satya and Hanzo look up at the tower nonchalantly. 

“Hm. Same cheap glass as last time,” Hanzo mutters as he looks at the windows of the skyscraper. Before he joined Overwatch, he had successfully broken into Karim Enterprises HQ by smashing through a window and killed several board members who were allies of the former Shimada-gumi. It was a wonder to Hanzo that the company replaced the board members so quickly. 

“You’re right,” Satya replies. Before she joined Overwatch, she had successfully broken into Karim Enterprises HQ by melting down a window and stolen all the company’s confidential data. It was a wonder to Satya that the company survived the PR disaster that followed. 

The pair glance at each other with raised eyebrows when they’ve realized what they said, but individually decide to not continue that line of conversation. Instead, they begin to slowly walk around the building, feigning a friendly chat between coworkers. Satya covertly takes pictures of the building by pressing a button hidden in her sunglasses frames, while Hanzo discreetly scopes out the physical security of the building. After making a loop around the tower, they enter a neighboring building, a shopping center. They take their time going up the floors of the mall, verifying entryways into the tower from the shopping center. As the sun crosses the sky, Hanzo is secretly grateful that he’s in an air-conditioned building. 

By the time Satya and Hanzo have verified the mission plan, the sun is beginning to set. The pair call a cab to go to the university, and despite the rush-hour traffic, manage to arrive on campus with time to spare. Hanzo spots Lena and Lúcio waiting outside the car, besides a large fountain; Lúcio beckons the other pair closer. He appears to have recovered from his exhaustion, eyes bright and posture loose. 

“Have a good trip?” Lena says. 

“It was very nice,” Hanzo says, “There will be a festival tonight in the city center.” 

“We should definitely go tonight!” Lúcio says, “If we have time, of course.” 

The three of them look to Satya, who is ignoring them in favor of looking longingly at a grand building down the street. 

“Oh, that’s the library,” Lena says to a confused Hanzo, “Carmo and I got to check it out a little bit, it’s really nice in there.” 

“Oh Leela,” Lúcio says mockingly to get Satya’s attention, “you just want to read books.” 

Satya pouts and turns away from him with a “hmph” while Lena snickers and Hanzo smirks at the irony. 

“Seriously though, if it’s on the way, we’ll go to the festival,” Lena says as she starts to walk away to the car. However, Lúcio pulls her back and shoves a phone into her hands. 

“Brittney, aren’t you forgetting something?” Lúcio asks. 

“Oh, that’s right, thanks! Hayate, Leela, we’re going to take a picture!” Lena says. Hanzo and Satya give the other two a quizzical look as they’re pulled towards the fountain and sandwiched between Lena and Lúcio. 

“Smile!” Lúcio cheers as Lena takes several selfies of all four of them. She brings the phone down and goes through the photos. 

“These are good! I’ll send these to all of you right now,” Lena says as she walks back to the car. The others follow suit; Lúcio calls shotgun, Satya and Hanzo take the backseats. Once Satya checks the covers on the mics in the car again, Lena and Lúcio visibly relax. Satya takes out her tablet, sends a message to Sanjay, and opens the picture that Lena sent. She freezes for a second; the smile on Lúcio’s face is so familiar. She saw it in Rio, on the face of a little girl. With his hair tied back in a bun and face shaven, Lúcio looks like he could have been that young girl’s older brother. 

The voice from this morning comes back. _Are you making the world a better place?_ Satya shuts her eyes as she tries to come up with an answer. 

“Were you able to successfully acquire our passes into the offices of the building?” Hanzo asks. 

“You betcha, luv! Shame we spent all day doing that though, would’ve been nice to tour the gardens,” Lena says, “By the way, when I said ‘if it’s on the way, we’ll go to the festival’, I really meant ‘we’re totally going to go’. The crowd will give us better cover, and I saw signs about roadblocks being set up tonight. I didn’t want to say it out loud because of all the bugs in the city. Didn’t want to confirm anything.” 

“No kidding,” Lúcio sighs, “People can’t say a freaking thing without worrying that they’re gonna show up on the algorithms flagged as a future criminal. I understand their fear but that’s just not right. Kinda like a certain corporation, huh, Satya?” 

Lena gives Lúcio the stink-eye, but he only smirks and waits for a retort. When nothing happens, he turns to look behind him and finds Satya passed out, tablet in hand, open to the picture they just took. For a moment, Lúcio hesitates at the sight. 

“She has probably been awake for a while now. Let her be,” Hanzo chides, “By the way, Lena, haven’t you been up longer? Should you even be driving?” 

“What are you talking abooooooooooouuuuuuut,” Lena says, yawning through the last word, “I’m fine, but could you be a dear and wake me up when we get there?” 

It takes five minutes and a frantic, heated argument to convince her to hand over the wheel to Lúcio. Lena passes out within minutes of Lúcio driving, and the trip to the safehouse in the city finishes without event. 

\---

_Sent at: 5:00 P.M. UTC +2 today_  
_From: Satya Vaswani_  
_To: Sanjay Korpal_  
_Subject: Oasis_

_All is going according to plan._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can't believe tracer called me out on using behindthename
> 
> anyway more to come 7/2


	3. Major Headache

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the chapter where the story earns its persona!au status  
> edit: hey I made a minor change in light of [this post](https://tabine.tumblr.com/post/161549417132)

_9:56 P.M._

The glass doors to the front entrance to Karim Enterprises are guarded by a single security guard, a dark slouching figure under the soft streetlights. Seven stories above him, in the neighboring mall, Symmetra plants one teleporter in a bathroom while Tracer and Lúcio wait behind her. Down the hallway, Hanzo cuts out a window in the nearby food court that faces the other tower. 

Hanzo finishes taking out the window pane and sets aside the glass. As he backs away from the newly created hole, Symmetra walks past him and straight out the window. Where her feet should only meet air, tiny, dim hard light platforms stream from her prosthetic palm and appear right below her feet, matching her exact footprints. When she reaches the Karim Enterprises tower, Symmetra switches on her photon projector and quietly melts her way into the building. She steps through the hole and looks behind her. Hanzo has put the window back together and vanished. No one will be the wiser. 

Symmetra dashes through the dark hallways and stops at the doorway to the room where she planned to plant her teleporter. She opens the closet door to possibly _the_ filthiest janitor closet she has seen in her life. The walls are covered in what appears to be a mixture of rust and orange mold, and a musty odor wafts out. Symmetra shuts the door. She decides to use the unused office next door to house her teleporter instead. 

_10:00 P.M._

Tracer, Lúcio, and Hanzo walk through the teleporter and gather next to Symmetra. 

“Test, test, check your comms one more time,” Tracer says, “Everyone know where they’re supposed to go?” 

The rest of the team nods. 

“Alright, let’s get to it already,” Tracer says with a smile, and blinks out of the room. Hanzo silently sprints out to follow her, and Lúcio skates away after him. Symmetra sets up turrets around the teleporter and leaves the room to begin her own search for Talon intel. She starts with the room immediately next to the teleporter, swiping the ID card Tracer and Lúcio gave her to enter the office. The room is completely dark, save for the dim glow of several monitors left on in black cubicles. Symmetra sits down at one of the bronze desks and activates the monitor; on screen is a social chat messenger. 

_Viraja: so hey when we gonna have some fun ;)_  
_Izzy: how about 7, at the usual place_  
_Viraja: nah too early yasmin’s gonna get suspicious_  
_Viraja: gotta keep it lowkey you know_  
_Izzy: ofc_  
_Izzy: although_  
_Izzy screenshotted the chat!_  
_Izzy: maybe you shouldn’t be cheating on your wife with mine_  
_Izzy sent a selfie!_

Symmetra turns off the computer before she accidentally does something stupid to ruin Viraja’s life. She goes to another lit monitor and finds that the same conversation is on screen, but on “Izzy”’s end. After a few seconds of deliberation, Symmetra decides that she won’t find anything of value in that office and leaves. For another hour, she does the same thing in each office she comes across: swipe card, check computers and files, rinse and repeat. Although she doesn’t come across any Talon data, she does manage to come across several more extramarital relationships and at least three cases of embezzlement. Symmetra takes no joy in these discoveries, only becoming further irritated by the proliferation of stupidity. However, as she enters another office, her comm crackles and Lúcio’s voice comes on. 

“Oh man, I think I’ve found something,” his voice crackles through Symmetra’s comm, “A lot of…something. Definitely Talon, though. This encryption is insane though, I think we’ll need Athena and Winston to crack this. I’m going to put this on a drive and bring it back.” 

“Sounds good,” Tracer voice pipes up on Symmetra’s earipiece, “See if you can find anything else. Same for you two, Hanzo, Symmetra.” 

Symmetra finishes rifling through the files in the office she’s in but turns up nothing related to Talon, only an official claim to have the janitor closet two floors up cleaned. She double checks the floors she’s already been through, and by the time she’s almost back to the teleporter, half an hour has passed. Suddenly, she hears a dull thud from the floor above and her comm comes to life again; this time, Hanzo speaks low and urgently. 

“We are compromised!” he hisses, “Talon knows we are here. Lúcio, are you safe?” 

“Yeah, I am,” Lúcio, “I just finished grabbing the data and I’m on my way back to the teleporter. What happened?” 

“I was checking another floor when a Talon agent tried to ambush me. They’re unconscious right now but I do not know how much time we have. Tracer, we need to retreat.” 

“Agreed, luv,” Tracer says, “We got what we came for, let’s get out of here. I’m updating Winston right now.” 

Within minutes all four members of the team have gathered at the teleporter in the mall. Symmetra reconfigures the teleporter to connect it to the one in the trunk of their car, and everyone changes into street clothing and throws their gear into the portal. The group silently sneaks out of the mall, skirting streetlights and security cameras, and makes their way to the city center. 

By the time they reach the festival, it’s almost midnight. The plaza is brightly lit and filled with laughter and music. The lights that Satya had seen been wrapped around a nearby tower shine a bright orange, the same vibrant hue as the flower petals that drift from the pagoda in the center of the plaza. Vendors shout jubilantly and advertise their goods to young and old alike. Lena leads the group into the throng of festival-goers. On the other side of the crowded city center is the group’s parked car. 

_11:58 P.M._

“Alright, we’re here!” Lúcio says, “I want to see what kind of stuff I can bring back for the kids back home.” 

“I wonder what I can get for my wife…” Lena muses. 

“We won’t be leaving for a while,” Hanzo says, “It has been a long while since any of us had a break. We can take our time.” 

The three of them cheerfully weave through the crowd, while Satya falls silently behind. The crowd is too thick, too loud for her to enjoy the festivities. The sights, the smells, the sounds vie for her attention, distracting her from her intended mental topic: Vishkar. 

_Something will happen tonight, she thinks. They – we wouldn’t pass up an opportunity like this. But how are they – we, Satya, **we** – going to eliminate him without creating too much of a commotion? Is someone just going to assassinate him? What about Lena and Hanzo? What’re they – **WE** – doing about them?_

Someone in the crowd pushes against her as they shove their way through the crowd. Rude, she thinks, until she looks ahead and sees that her team has been separated. Lena is talking to herself, not realizing that she’s alone, but Satya sees that Hanzo and Lúcio are silently struggling against some invisible force. Satya feels it too; the crowd forces her to the edge of the festival, and once again she’s cloaked in darkness. She looks up and makes eye contact with a man in the crowd. 

Sanjay’s face is beaming with delight. 

_12:00 A.M._

_BOOM!_

A gigantic blast rocks the city center. Satya reels from the tremors and only stops herself from falling by clinging onto a lamppost. She looks up and sees smoke rise from the base of the tower wrapped in lights. To her, it looks like the lights are slowly getting brighter and larger. As Satya realizes that the tower is falling, a voice shouts through her comm. 

“Get to the car! NOW!” Lena yells. Satya runs away from the collapsing tower and towards the car, but stops in her tracks when a flash of red and white passes her. Something is shoved into her hands – a tiny flash drive. Satya turns and looks in horror as she sees Lúcio runs towards the falling building, where a man with a broken leg lies on the ground. A shot rings out, and Lúcio suddenly clutches his arm. He keeps on running though, blood splattering on the pavement below him. Dust fills Satya’s vision, as people run past her screaming, as Lena screams at Lúcio to get back, as a face Satya has seen time and time again runs straight into disaster. 

_This is where he dies_ , Satya realizes. 

_This is how we advance_ , Symmetra thinks. 

_Are you making the world a better place?_ the familiar voice asks again. Satya blinks and sees the vast plain of nothingness, where the woman in blue, white, and gold sits upside down in front of a door, holding out her hand. Satya runs to her and grasps onto it for dear life. Instantly, a flurry of emotions and memories rush through her mind at breakneck speed. 

_I am thou – meu doce ango – people should be free to live as they choose – we’re making the world a better place – I do not enjoy being ignored, Symmetra – welcome to Vishkar, Ms. Vaswani – get out of here, you thief! – thou art I – when you are in a situation where your intuition tells you to defy orders – Rosa! Meu bébé! – this is where he dies – think she’ll lend you one of hers, One-Arm? – I’ve seen this face before – whatever do you mean? – from the sea of thy soul, I come – next update expected at 5:00 P.M. your time – could’ve been her older brother – perfect harmony – what have I done? – why do you say it without pride? – heroes never die, Ms. Vaswani – I’m not the only street ruffian here – this is how we advance – summon me, Symmetra!_

“This is not how this ends! I need your help!” Satya cries, “I summon you!” 

The woman smiles and speaks without moving her mouth one last time. 

_Paradise in the vast sea of the desert, I am –_

“OASIS!” Satya screams as she snaps back to reality. A blinding white light appears from her right hand, outstretched towards Lúcio. The light weaves itself into a figure and takes the weight of a tumbling wall from the tower about to crush him. Lúcio’s jaw drops in sheer shock as Oasis fully forms from the light. 

Oasis looks Omnic-like, but her chrome skin has a texture too liquidlike for her to be an Omnic proper. Her eight arms, four on each side, with prosthetics on the left and natural arms on the right, bear the weight of the falling rubble. A dress of ivory and gold with black accents and pale green lining tightly crisscrosses her body and ends at her knees, followed by similarly colored boots. Thick gold bangles hover around her ankles and wrists. Her head is mostly covered by a white and gold helmet, but where her nose and mouth should be, Oasis has neither. The circles in the two wing-like shapes on the sides of her helmet blink – her eyes. A green scarf hangs from the back of her helmet and barely tickles Lúcio’s nose. 

Oasis shoves away the rubble and quickly floats towards more of the falling tower, knocking pieces out of the way of fleeing civilians. Lúcio helps the man up with his good arm but as he stands he see a glint of metal in the corner of his eye. He barely has time to shove himself out of the man’s grasp as the man takes out a knife and swipes at where Lúcio’s stomach was a moment before. The man lunges at him, but Lúcio easily sidesteps him and knocks him out with a chop to the neck from his uninjured arm. 

A shot whizzes right by Lúcio’s ear, and he knows it’s time to get out of the open. He zips behind the pagoda as another shot misses going straight through one of his feet. Peeking his head through the doorway, Lúcio spies upon something he would have never dreamed of seeing. Through the two gilded entryways, on the other side of the city center, Satya is sprinting around the city center, hurriedly creating hard-light structures to shield the festivalgoers from the falling rubble. Twisting and turning, she doesn’t notice the other blasts in the center that begin to bring down other structures; if anything, she moves faster to accommodate for the increase in debris. Even when a shot rings out and Lúcio sees sparks fly from a hole in her prosthetic arm, Satya does not stop, as if in a trance. 

It reminds Lúcio of his adrenaline runs during his live shows, but now, he is the audience to a miraculous performance of willpower and concentration. He is almost completely entranced, but two things break him out of his hypnosis: a gigantic flash of silver and white that stops a lamppost from crushing Satya’s head, and Hanzo’s urgent voice on the comm line. 

“Carmo, snipers located, Brittney is taking them out,” he says, “When she’s done, get Leela out and _run_. The police are on their way.” 

“What about that…thing?!” Lúcio yells, pointing at the chrome figure clearing the last of the falling towers. He barely registers that Hanzo somehow had the presence of mind to stay on their fake names. 

“The Persona will be fine!” 

“The what?! Han – Hayate, what the hell is going on?” 

“Later!” Lena’s voice yells in the comm, “Sniper down, get Leela out now!” 

Lúcio sprints through the pagoda and toward Satya, still furiously performing her magic. Her arm sparks profusely and suddenly screeches with a loud “pop”. Its lights glow much too brightly and Satya lets out an ear-piecing shriek. She crumples to the ground, clutching her shoulder. Lúcio slides on the ground and catches her; he has to bite back his own scream as his injured arm fiercely protests. Oasis is by his side immediately and gently places two of her hands on Lúcio’s and Satya’s injured arms. Lúcio feels the pain dull somewhat and he is just barely able to pick up the convulsing architech. 

“This is only temporary. Get yourselves to your doctor immediately,” Oasis says to a shocked Lúcio. She shoves him towards a quickly approaching Lena and Hanzo, but when he turns back, she has disappeared. He doesn’t take any more time and books it out of the plaza with his teammates under the cover of smoke and dust. Hanzo and Lena take the now-unconscious Satya and they pile into the car, speeding out of the city. 

“…oh my God,” Lúcio mumbles, staring holes into the car floor, “That was Vishkar.” 

“Well…,” Lena begins haltingly, but she bites her lip and stops. The car is silent for a long time. 

“Let us continue this when Winston arrives. There will be...much to discuss,” Hanzo says, as he stares into the rear-view mirrors, watching the bright lights and plumes of smoke from the city behind them shrink smaller and smaller, until finally there is no light but the headlights of their car. 

_12:20 A.M._

\---

Meanwhile, in a desert city over 800 miles to the west, a man with a red visor and tacky blue jacket and a masked woman cloaked in black and purple crouch in the shadows of an ancient temple, watching the gated entrance of Helix Security International. Two heavily armed guards stand directly in front of the gate, and another two are posted in the watch towers. Behind them, a typical office complex nonchalantly houses military technology beyond the two would-be intruders’ wildest dreams and many of Helix’s employees. 

“So,” the man asks, “Why are we in front of the building of the company that’s placed a bounty on my head again?”. 

“Because you need more cartridges for your pulse rifle and neither of us can afford the ones on the black market,” the woman replies. 

“Okay, but I don’t need to be at their HQ to get them. Why are we at this specific building?” 

The woman turns towards him. Her face may be covered by a black mask with a cyan triangle design, but the man knows that she’s grinning from ear to ear. 

“Can’t a mother visit her daughter?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rip me ???? - 2017, death by ao3 html editor  
> update is tentatively 7/16, life events might make me move that date though


	4. Do I Want To Know?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aftermath; explanations are poorly made by at least two different parties

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "can we be in three different places this chapter? yes. can I take extreme creative liberties with the concept of Personas? yes," I say to myself at 11 on saturday night as I write half of this chapter
> 
> and yeah the chapter title is from [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bpOSxM0rNPM)

Fareeha Amari was a woman who liked routine. Routine meant peace. Routine meant the God AI stayed quiet today and did not bring about the end of the world as Fareeha knew it. Routine meant no one was shot out of the sky, no one died for Egypt or for humanity, and no one had to go up to someone’s door and tell whoever answered that someone they loved died for a greater cause. Routine was good. 

It was routine for Fareeha to visit her office in Helix Security HQ right before she went on a nightly patrol, fully outfitted in the Raptora suit, just to make sure she didn’t forget anything. It was _not_ routine for people to be in her private office when she did this, and especially not unknown masked individuals with guns. The man with the number 76 emblazoned on the back of his jacket facing away from Fareeha ran his gloved hand through his hair as he spoke to the person lounging in Fareeha’s desk chair with their feet on her mahogany desk, hands cradling a sniper rifle. 

“I cannot believe we are actually doing this,” the man grumbles. 

“Oh hey, Fareeha!” the person in the chair says cheerfully, completely ignoring their compatriot, “Awww, you’ve gotten so tall! See, Soldier, you don’t need shady government chemical experimentation to make you big and strong! Anyways, Fareeha, dear, would you mind closing the door? There’s a lot I want to talk about with you.” 

“Who are you?” Fareeha demands, pointing the rocket blaster at the person in her chair. It’s a bluff; she could never launch a rocket in such closed quarters and not expect to be seriously injured herself. The stranger merely chuckles and unclasps the mask from their face. Fareeha’s jaw drops as her presumed-dead mother brushes several stray strands of white hair to the side. 

“Hey, Fareeha, still interested in joining Overwatch?” Ana asks, leaning forward and resting one elbow on the desk and the other arm reaching for something in her coat. 

“I – yes, but – ‘ummi?” Fareeha stutters out. 

“Yes, that’s me, I’m your mother,” Ana replies, “Ana Amari, 60 years young, missing one eye now but it doesn’t really change anything.” 

Fareeha stares at Ana for a second, mouth still open. It is not routine for people to come back from the dead. It is not routine for your mother, K.I.A., to reappear in your office in one of the most secure buildings on the planet and look as if she was in her home office. _Then again, I never did see a body_ , Fareeha thinks right before she begins to collapse. As she passes out, she sees Ana holding a dart gun and wonders when she had gotten that out. 

“Dammit, Ana,” Soldier says as he catches Fareeha, careful not to crush the tiny dart sticking out of her neck. 

“Relax, even with the armor, she’s not that heavy,” Ana chides, standing up from the chair and walking around the desk, “Give her to me and let’s get out of here.” 

“Excuse me, what? Why are we taking her?” Soldier says as he heaves Fareeha off his side and into Ana’s arms. 

“Because she wants to join Overwatch, and that’s where we’re headed,” Ana replies coolly as she flicks a tube out of her coat sleeve and into her hand. 

“We’re joining Overwatch? Ana, we’re committing kidnapping - wait, what are you doing with that nano booster? Why are you pointing it at yourself? Ana, don’t – oh, goddammit.” 

\---

The conference room in Watchpoint: Gibraltar is stuffy from both the outside humidity and from the combined tension of the Overwatch agents in the room. Winston is seated at the head of the table, hands clasped in front of him and resting on the table. On his left from closest to farthest are Lena (slouched forward, rubbing at her temples, nursing a cup of coffee), Torbjörn (looking over the schematic for Satya’s prosthetic on a tablet), Bastion (watching Ganymede fly around) and Reinhardt (watching the holoscreen behind Winston with a worried look). Likewise, on Winston’s right are Genji (arms crossed, looking up at the ceiling), Hanzo (arms crossed, looking down at the table), Zenyatta (watching Ganymede flutter around Bastion), and Hana (watching the holoscreen with an intrigued look). Behind Winston, on the blue holoscreen, in bold letters in just about every language, the headlines all say the same thing: _Terror In Oasis_. Pictures of Satya’s Persona are scattered throughout the reports. 

“So,” Winston begins, “The good news is that the data the Oasis team retrieved is being decrypted by Athena, and we should get something from it relatively soon. The bad news is that Agents Lúcio and Symmetra were injured, but Dr. Ziegler expects them both to make a full recovery. However, Satya will be out of commission for a while to recover from the backlash of her prosthetic’s power surge. Including McCree, who’s in the medical ward for his broken leg, we’re going to be strapped for agents for the next few weeks. 

But that’s not the focus of this meeting today. Yesterday, something happened during the mission I cannot explain. I’m sure that there are plenty of pictures of that…entity behind me. Agents Hanzo and Genji, perhaps you are able to explain in greater detail what occurred last night?” 

Hanzo pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out a sigh. He glances to his brother, who only gives a small nod. Three ferret-sized dragons, two blue and one green, appear out of thin air and slither around on the table. Zenyatta’s Transcendence arms also appear and beckon the dragons towards him. They scamper over to him and crawl onto the golden glowing arms. 

“You are already familiar with the Shimada dragons in battle,” Hanzo says, “Those of you who were part of the former Overwatch have told me that while my brother was part of your organization, he vehemently refused to explain the dragons’ existence. After yesterday’s events, Genji and I have decided that it is in your best interest to understand what is happening. 

What you saw appear from Agent Symmetra is called a Persona. It is a physical manifestation of one’s personality, a representation of the soul. However, Personas do not come from nothing; they are actually refined forms of Shadows, which are in turn physical manifestations of human emotion. I am sure you are aware by now what kind of power these beings can wield. For a very long time, the Shimada clan believed that the ‘power of the dragons’ was only available to the clan, but in our travels, my brother and I have since realized that this is untrue. For example, Zenyatta’s Transcendence arms are also a type of Persona.” 

“I was very confused when I realized that Master Zenyatta was a Persona user,” Genji picks up, “As you can see, his Persona doesn’t really have a body, so to speak. This has led my brother and I to the conclusion that there are different ‘species’ of Persona. So far, we have identified three species: traditional, partial, and parasite. Satya’s Persona and the dragons are traditional Personas, and are the most common. They have at least one full physical form and can interact with this material world. If the Persona is humanoid, it will sometimes be capable of human speech. 

On the other hand, Master Zenyatta’s Persona is a partial Persona. They do have a complete form, but they only show themselves to their user, usually in dreams. In the physical world, they manifest as augmentations to their user’s abilities. Once again, to use Master Zenyatta as an example, the Transcendence arms are his Persona and provide him his healing and discord powers.” 

“The third type of Persona, the parasite Persona, is very rare,” Hanzo continues, “To this day, I have only ever seen one case of this type of Persona. These Personas appear when the user experiences such severe emotional trauma that when the Shadow becomes a Persona at that moment, it takes control of the body and soul of the user. The person becomes the Persona.” 

The room is silent, the low hum of the air conditioning creating waves in the tepid atmosphere. Everyone is looking at Hanzo with a mix of shock and confusion written across their faces. 

“So, any questions?” Genji chirps as he claps his hands together. 

Several events occur at the exact moment after Genji finishes his statement: 

  * Winston calmly asks a stream of questions about the scientific nature of Personas.
  * Tracer slouches over on the table and promptly falls asleep.
  * Torbjörn yells at the Shimada brothers for not telling everyone about this sooner and blames them for creating more work for him.
  * Reinhardt declares that this is just like one of those Japanese video games he played when he was younger.
  * D.Va produces a vintage PS Vita from seemingly nowhere and screams something about video games being real life.
  * Bastion and Zenyatta watch Ganymede play tag with the Shimada dragons, content on ignoring the chaos around them.
  * Hanzo gets up and leaves Genji to fend for himself, betraying his younger brother once again.



\---

Satya blearily opens her eyes and sees white. She closes her eyes and tries to move around, but everything hurts and her prosthetic is missing. Her clothing has also been replaced with a paper gown. Opening her eyes again, the rough foam texture of the ceiling becomes more distinct, and Satya realizes that she is in Dr. Ziegler’s ward. The sound of paper rustling catches Satya’s attention, and she turns her head to the right to see a human-sized Oasis seated on a hard-light stool, reading one of the doctor’s paperbacks. Her skin is illuminated yellow and orange by the sunlight streaming from the window on the other side of the room. 

“Good afternoon, Symmetra,” Oasis says, quietly closing the book and setting it on her lap, “How are you feeling?” 

“It is comparable to my state of well-being after I ate expired yogurt from the academy cafeteria,” Satya groans. 

“Most unfortunate, but entirely expected. Your prosthetic experienced a power surge which backlashed onto your nervous system. From what the doctor told me, it was akin to being struck by lightning, albeit with only a fraction of the energy, but still overwhelming nonetheless. Fortunately, nothing was permanently damaged, so we expect you to recover within the next few weeks. Torbjörn is repairing your arm; he said he’ll have it done in a few days.” 

“You spoke to them?” 

“Who else could? I am thou, and thou have been unconscious and dreaming for a while. Twelve hours, to be exact.” 

“Where is everyone? What happened after I passed out? Where is Lúcio?” 

“Please relax, Symmetra. Except the doctor, Lúcio, and McCree – he broke his leg while you were in the field – everyone is currently having a meeting about my existence. Winston and Dr. Ziegler picked us up soon after you fell unconscious. I assisted the doctor with keeping you stable for medical treatment and the other agents explained what happened in the city center. According to the news reports, there were tens of injured people but no fatalities and very few major injuries. We saved many people, Symmetra.” 

Satya turns her head back to look at the ceiling. She closes her eyes and tries to think about that night, but it is a blur of gold and smoke, bronze and blood. The only clear image in her mind is of Lúcio crouched under the falling tower, injured arm dangling useless at his side, face contorting with the realization that he would die in seconds. An uneasy pressure rises in Satya’s chest, and Oasis rests one of her hands on Satya’s right shoulder. 

“He is fine, Satya,” Oasis muses, “The doctor was there to pick us up with Winston. She treated his gunshot wound very quickly, and he’s recuperating in a room down the hall. Satya, he’s okay. You saved him.” 

The feeling doesn’t go away though, and Satya weakly clutches at her chest with her right arm. Oasis hums in thought and takes away her hand. 

“Symmetra, go back to sleep. We’ll talk again when you wake up,” Oasis says, and Satya feels her eyelids become impossibly heavy. 

\---

_The crowds are unusually dense today. Satya watches them from the rickety wooden rooftop of a tenement, legs dangling from the edge of the building. She looks down the road and sees a procession making its way towards her. An elderly man in orange robes and a large gaggle of children climb up the stairs behind Satya; she keeps a wary eye on them as the man sits a small distance away from her to watch the parade, leaving the children to play with the orange flowers they had brought with them. They shriek with delight as they pick apart the petals of the flowers and shower each other with them._

_“Mr. Kumar, Mr. Kumar, do you know where we can get more flowers?” one of the children ask the man. He points to an overloaded flower cart several blocks down the street and the gang of children scamper away. Satya watches them run away, and then turns her attention back to the line of men walking down the street. They wear the same orange robes as Mr. Kumar._

_“Mr. Kumar, why is there a parade today?” Satya asks. He smiles and points to a polished wooden statue of a woman being carried down the street on a litter. The statue has many arms, all in different poses, and is backed by a complete circle of arms. To the young girl, they look like a peacock’s tail feathers._

_“Today, there is a large congregation of Chinese monks visiting my temple as part of a kind of pilgrimage mission. As a gift to the temple, they have brought us a statue of the Avalokiteshwara, the Goddess of Mercy,” Mr. Kumar says._

_“Why does she have so many arms?”_

_“To help all suffering souls in the world at once. In a Chinese legend, her original two arms shattered when she tried to ease the pain of those suffering souls, so a monk gave her 1,000 arms.”_

_“She sounds really nice, Mr. Kumar,” Satya says with a smile. The sound of wooden stair creaking draws both Satya and Mr. Kumar’s attention, and they look back to see the gaggle of children covered in flowers of all shapes and colors. The children jog up to the edge of the rooftop and peer down at the statue._

_“Wow, that lady’s got a lot of hands! Think she’ll lend you one of hers, One-Arm?” one of the boys yells at Satya. In a flash, Satya gets up, leaps around Mr. Kumar, socks the boy right in the face, and dashes down the stairs. She can hear the dull tones of Mr. Kumar scolding the boy grow softer and blend in with the clamor of the crowd as she tries to hold back her tears._

_\---_

__  


Satya blearily opens her eyes and sees white again. Everything is as it was before she passed out, except the room is dimmer, a light gray instead of white. Slowly turning her head to the left, Satya looks out the window at the sea, dark waves illuminated by the moonlight. It is quiet in her room, save for Oasis flipping through the pages of a book. Satya turns herself back towards Oasis and sees a pile of books on bedside table that wasn’t there before; Oasis herself is going through an old cooking magazine that Satya has seen hanging around the medbay waiting room.

“Did you dream well?” Oasis asks, looking up from the magazine. 

“Kind of,” Satya replies, “I dreamt about the parade the day before I was recruited by Vishkar.” 

Oasis hums thoughtfully and sets aside the magazine. She leans forward, a pair of elbows on her knees and her head resting on a hand. 

“Let us talk, Symmetra. Persona to persona. Yesterday was the beginning of a very important journey for you. I do not know how long this journey will take. Perhaps it will not be finished by the time you breathe your last breath. What this journey will consist of, I also do not know. All I know is that you will change, whether or not you realize it, whether or not you enjoy it. I too may change, but that is dependent upon your choices.” 

“What are you trying to say?” 

“Do you accept this fate? Will you undertake this journey, Symmetra?” 

Satya looks up at Oasis with a confused expression. 

“…yes? What you described was just a very abstract version of living,” Satya says cautiously. 

Although Oasis does not have a mouth, Satya can see the eyes on her helmet squint a little. Perhaps she is smiling? she thinks. 

“So be it, Symmetra. So be it,” Oasis whispers as she fades into nothingness. Satya stares at the now-empty space for a moment, and turns back towards the window. The sound of the waves beating against the rocks echoes through the room, and Satya falls asleep once more under the pale moonlight, sinking into dreamless slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~don't fail me now wikipedia~~
> 
>  
> 
> hey so next update is gonna be 3 weeks from now (8/6) bc life events
> 
> also also to everyone who's been leaving kudos and comments: *makes heart shape with my hands* thank you so much!


	5. New Faces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Overwatch comes back together, piece by piece

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> f i n a l l y  
> my god never let an engineering major shut-in write feelings

It had been two days since Lúcio was admitted to the medical ward, one day since he reached maximum boredom levels, twelve hours since Dr. Ziegler had to remove a Lúcio-branded soccer ball from his room, and six hours since Hana had brought back said soccer ball (now decorated with a D.Va bunny logo sticker). He had had his share of visitors during those two days; Winston went over the results of the mission with him, Hanzo gave him the Persona spiel (while a ticked off Genji glared at Hanzo from the doorway), Reinhardt brought him some streusel, and Jesse came by every now and then to chat. Lúcio found himself listening for the clicking of Jesse’s crutches on the tile floor while he tried to stave off his boredom, but he could only watch hockey reruns and mess around with a soccer ball for so long. 

So when Dr. Ziegler came by to tell him that he was now allowed to roam the medical ward (“ _Only_ the medical ward, dos Santos, you’re still recovering. And give me that soccer ball, I knew Song was hiding something.”), Lúcio was ecstatic. He threw on a lime tank top and navy cargo shorts and raced out the door, and within half an hour was bored out of his mind. The gray halls of the medical ward were silent and mostly dark, with all but a few rooms either locked or completely empty. The only sounds Lúcio heard were the squeaking of the wheels of the black stretchers whenever he accidentally brushed by them. As for the people in the ward, Dr. Ziegler was holed up in her lab working on her Caduceus Staff and McCree was taking a nap, which left Lúcio where he was at the current moment, standing outside of Satya Vaswani’s room. 

Lúcio understood what happened that night in Oasis. Winston had made it very clear in his briefing, and Hanzo only more so. In her heart of hearts, Vaswani didn’t want him to die, yet every time they even saw each other, she looked at him like he was the scum of the earth, not even fit to be scraped off the bottoms of her shoes. In the airport, he was greeted by Symmetra of the Vishkar Corporation; in the city center, he was saved by Satya Vaswani. He thinks momentarily of Satya passed out in the back of the car at the university, tablet screen with the picture of the four of them. If – no, when I knock on this door, who will greet me? Lúcio thinks, Which Vaswani will be there? The one that wants me dead or the one that saved my life? 

He firmly raps his knuckles against the metal door and the sound echoes down the hallway, dissolving into silence again. He thinks that Satya might be out of her room, but just as he starts to turn back, he hears a muffled “Come in” from the other side of the door. Hesitantly, Lúcio opens the door and peeks his head into her room. Satya is sitting up in her bed, wearing an old Overwatch black shirt and sweatpants, scrolling through something on the tablet in her lap. The crumbs of a blueberry streusel rest on a paper plate on her bedside table next to a pile of magazines. The glare of the setting sun shines through the window and Lúcio shields his eyes with his hand. Satya silently beckons him forward and Lúcio hesitantly walks into her room. He pulls over a rolling stool from the corner of the room to Satya’s bedside and sits down. 

“So…how are you feeling, Vaswani?” he asks her. 

“Better. I have recovered some of my strength, but I am still healing, and Torbjörn is still working on my prosthetic. How about you?” 

“I’m…I’m fine. Good. Yeah. Thanks.” 

There is a pause, a silence that fills the room with words that needed to be said yet still unspoken. Lúcio pushes past the awkwardness and takes a deep breath. 

“Listen, Vaswani, I just wanted to thank you. For saving me. Really, you saved my bacon out there, and I know that we’ve had our fair share of history, but that doesn’t mean I’m not grateful for what you’ve done. You…you saved my life. Really, thank you again, from the bottom of my heart. I just…I’m sorry, this is going to sound really bad, but I’ll give it to you straight: why in the world did you save me?” 

Satya looks down at the tablet for a long time, not reading the words on the screen, her even breathing the only sound in the room. Slowly, she turns back to Lúcio. 

“Because it was the right thing to do. You may not believe me, but I truly do not wish for your death,” she replies. 

“Even though you hate me.” 

“Even though I hate that you continue to stand in the way of progress. However, I am of the mind that progress cannot come at the price of senseless murder and destruction. For all that you have done to hinder Vishkar Corporation’s efforts, you haven’t done anything to place unwilling people in the face of danger. At the same time, while I was very uncomfortable with some of the actions that Vishkar had to take in Rio, the decisions made were justified and correct. In an ideal world, you would be peacefully removed from this situation, but this is not an ideal world.” 

“So what about Oasis? Why was that any different?” 

“Because…because Vishkar should not need to sacrifice tens or hundreds of people to remove one enemy. We are better than that. Also, admittedly, before the events of that night, I was having misgivings about the nature of my mission.” 

“You defied Vishkar not only because you realized that you didn’t like what you guys were doing, but also because you thought that the way you guys were trying to kill me was _inefficient?_ ” 

“…that is one way to put it.” 

“I mean, technically, I agree, but it still sounds unsettling when it comes from someone who wants me out of the picture.” 

Satya turns back towards the tablet, eyes unfocused and half-closed. Lúcio sees something flicker across Satya’s face and feels that something is off, but he can’t put his finger on what it is that’s bothering him. 

“I know. I’m sorry,” Satya whispers. Lúcio’s eyes widen. He sees something change in her face again. 

“Hey, Vaswani, are you ok?” 

Satya doesn’t say anything. Again, another flicker and another face. 

“Vaswani?” 

And there it is again, another flicker, like a flip of a switch. Lúcio thinks he knows what’s going on. 

“Hey, Vaswani, who am I talking to? Symmetra or Satya?” 

Satya looks up suddenly and glares at Lúcio. She opens her mouth to say something, but her eyes glance to something behind him and she stops before she can make a sound. Lúcio turns around to see a masked man wielding a pulse rifle standing in the doorway, looking right at them. His body blocks their only way out; the window drops off at least two stories down to the rocky outcrop right above the beach. 

“Hey Soldier, did you find Angela?” a woman’s voice shouts from down the hallway. Lúcio hears a muffled “thanks a lot, Ana” from the stranger right before a bright light blasts right between Lúcio and the stranger. Oasis materializes from the light, twice as large as the stranger, and raises her arms in a threat to strike. The man hefts his pulse rifle at the Persona and gets ready to shoot, but the business end of a revolver aligns itself with his temple. 

“Sir, I wouldn’t do that if I were you. The doctor gets mighty angry at people who bring weapons into the medical ward,” Jesse says, leaning on one crutch. His body stiffens however when he feels the business end of a sniper rifle at his own temple. 

“Likewise, cowboy,” a shorter masked woman says. A hush comes over the standoff; the tension in the room is thicker than honey. Lúcio feels like he could melt into a dos Santos-shaped puddle right now from his anxiety alone. 

Outside in a connecting hallway, Dr. Ziegler and an unarmored Fareeha (who found the doctor within two minutes of sneaking into the medical ward) are amicably chatting and catching up on life as they walk around, but stop when they see the four-man standoff. The doctor wearily looks at the scene and lets out an exhausted sigh. 

“Fareeha, could you grab me the pillow on that cot?” Angela says. Fareeha does so as she continues to gawk at the unusual scene. Angela takes it, slams her face into it, and screams. 

\---

“So,” Winston begins, grinding his teeth, “I’m glad all of you could come on such short notice.” 

The meeting room is once again full, this time even more cramped due to the addition of seven more people. Jesse and Satya got first pick of seats and elected to take the two closest to Winston, a tense Jesse on his left and an even more tense Satya on his right. Lúcio, exhausted by the confrontation, slumps in his seat between Jesse and Hana, absentmindedly clutching his injured arm, while Dr. Ziegler sits between Satya and Hanzo, rubbing her temples with her fingers. Reinhardt, Torbjorn, and Bastion stand behind Jesse’s side of the table, while Genji, Zenyatta, Hana, and Lena mirror them on Satya’s side. At the end of the tablet, opposite of Winston, Fareeha and her two masked companions stand awkwardly and unarmed, their weapons having been confiscated by a furious Dr. Ziegler. 

“Would our guests like to introduce themselves?” Winston asks with the tone of someone seriously considering homicide. No one dares to move, lest they invoke Winston's rage. Fareeha breaks the silence with a nervous cough, but when she steps forward, the anxiety dissipates instantly. Satya sees and feels the woman exude pure strength. Her face is like the stone statues of the gods and generals from the ancient civilizations, piercing and rigid. 

“Ahlan, I am Fareeha Amari,” she says sharply, “Until very recently, I was a lieutenant at Helix Security International under the call sign ‘Pharah’, stationed at the Temple of Anubis in Cairo, but I was, ahem,” and she glares at the smaller, cloaked figure, “’recruited’ back into Overwatch. Seeing as I can’t go back to Helix for reasons I’d rather not elaborate on, I will be working with you from now on. I hope we can work together.” 

The tension in the room melts away instantly. The older Overwatch members applaud, Jesse whistles, and Bastion sounds off happy booping sounds. Satya briefly glances to Winston and sees that his stony demeanor has softened a little bit, but nevertheless, she can’t seem to tear her eyes off Fareeha for very long. Her stature, her voice, her very presence exudes a silent but unswerving power. For some reason, Satya thinks to Torbjörn in his workshop, hammering away at his creations with the old materials of iron and lava, the clear ringing of metal on metal echoing out in the watchpoint. _For whom does this bell toll but for justice_ , Oasis’ voice says in Satya’s mind, _perhaps this one is a kindred spirit?_

However, this is but a first impression, and in Satya’s experience, those can be vastly misleading, so she merely files the thought away as a fleeting conclusion. 

The masked pair behind Fareeha step forward, and the tension in the room returns with a vengeance. Dr. Ziegler tightens up even more and leans forward, scrutinizing the two. Some of the agents hear a soft ‘click’, quickly glance at Jesse, and either pray that he did not actually bring a gun into the room or wonder how he even got it back from Dr. Ziegler in the first place. The masked strangers turn to each other; the one with white hair nods and they take off their masks at the same time. When their faces are revealed, the room erupts into utter chaos. 

“What in Sam He – owowowowow, dammit!” Jesse yells as he stands up and hits his broken leg against the table, “I thought you were dead!” 

“Sorry to disappoint, cowboy,” Ana says and shrugs, “Old soldiers are hard to kill. Also, hello there, I’m Ana Amari, sharpshooter extraordinaire and former Overwatch captain. It’s good to see so many familiar faces, and then some. In any case, I’ve come back to help you guys out, seeing as there are so few agents that we can literally fit all of them in a single room.” 

Ana’s eye scans the room and lingers on Satya’s face for just a little while longer than the others. _Beware the elder Amari, she can see more than you think_ , Satya hears Oasis say. Ana’s presence is just as powerful as Fareeha’s, but Satya feels a cooler undertone, like something icy and sharp. It makes her feel more alive, or is it fear? She doesn’t have time to think on it for much before Ana elbows the man next to her, who flinches and clears his throat. 

“Soldier: 76. Vigilante. But I think...you all know who I was before the fall of Overwatch,” he says. 

“No kidding, Jack!” Dr. Ziegler yells, “I’m amazed that you got out of the rubble in one piece, let alone with just a few scars on your face!” 

“Some people wear more than one mask,” Soldier mutters under his breath. Ana quickly glances at his jaw. Dr. Ziegler doesn’t catch what either of these things could mean, but Satya thinks Hanzo does, judging from the way his eyes widen. She’ll have to ask him about it later. 

“So why are you here, Jack? Are you here to retake the reins of Overwatch?” Winston asks warily. Soldier bristles at the thought and shakes his head. 

“No, I’m no longer a good fit for that role. All I’m good for – was ever only good for, to be honest – is to be a regular rank soldier. Commander Jack Morrison died in Geneva, and I’d like him to stay dead, so please, call me Soldier. But to answer your first question, Winston, I’m here to join forces with you. I’ve been trying to figure out who exactly took down Overwatch, and I’m going to bring them to justice.” 

“Don’t say anything but I really forced him to come with me so I could get on the HOV lanes,” Ana whispers to her daughter. Fareeha smirks and Satya discovers that she doesn’t mind how her lips frame her mouth. _Falling deeper into your grave, dear_ , Oasis muses internally. 

The room is dead silent. Everyone but Winston and the newer Overwatch agents has their heads bowed in contemplation. Finally, Dr. Ziegler lifts her head and speaks up. 

“We’ll have to update all of your medical files,” she says hesitantly, “I’ll need to know any injury you’ve suffered since you…left the organization. I’ll also need to do your lab work again, and maybe you’ll need to have booster shots – don’t worry Fareeha, you’re probably fine on that end – but that’s all I have to do on my end for your entrance processing. I never thought I’d ever do this for you two again.” 

“I…I just don’t know what to say,” Torbjörn says quietly, exhausted, “All of us here from the old team, we buried you two. It hasn’t been that long. This is just such a shock for all of us. The dead coming back to life. When you’re in a group like Overwatch, you know that doesn’t happen.” 

“Truly,” Reinhardt continues, “But even though I am, for lack of a better word, astounded by your reappearance, it is not unwelcome. I am glad to have my old friends back again. Welcome back, Jack, Ana.” Reinhardt walks towards Ana and Soldier and the giant man gently embraces them in a solid hug. His body shudders as he begins to cry. 

“I am so, so, so very happy that both of you are alive,” he says between sobs. Satya looks across the table and sees tears in Jesse’s and Torbjörn’s eyes. If she turned around, she suspects that Lena and Dr. Ziegler would be in a similar state. 

“Well, I guess we’ve got ourselves some new recruits,” Winston says under his breath, “Athena, please reactivate Ana Amari, Fareeha Amari, and Jack Morr – I mean, Soldier: 76 as new members of Overwatch.” 

“Of course. Agents Amari, Agent 76, welcome back to Overwatch. Please report to the medical ward after the meeting for your checkups,” Athena says over the intercom. 

Satya watches this scene, of old friends finding each other again, of one Fareeha Amari standing to the side awkwardly, but looking at the people in the room wistfully, as if reminiscing on childhood memories. _That’s probably not too far off the mark_ , actually, she thinks. As other members of Overwatch, old and new, gather around Ana, Soldier, and Fareeha, Satya quietly lets Dr. Ziegler know that she’s heading back to her room; it’s been a long and stressful day for her. With the doctor’s approval, she makes her way out of the room. As she’s leaving, Satya feels as if she’s being watched. _Three eyes between them but two are blessed_ , Oasis says in her mind again, _three eyes that see so much more than our four._

However, just a few seconds after she leaves, Satya hears the door open again. Quick, light taps on the metal floor sound louder as the person walks closer to her. 

“Excuse me!” 

Satya turns around and finds herself face to face with Fareeha. Her eyes are drawn to the tattoo below Fareeha’s right eye, following the inked line as it glides over the bags under her eyes and curls under a cheekbone. 

“Pardon me, but may I ask you what your name is?” Fareeha says, snapping Satya out of her concentration on the tattoo. 

“Satya Vaswani. It is a pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant Amari.” 

“Same to you. Mrs. Vaswani, I’d like to apologize for what happened today with Soldier and my mother. You are still recovering and I’m sure that incident did nothing but put more stress on you and your body. Unfortunately, my mother and her companions have a way of, how do I put it, making an entrance.” 

“How out of character for a sniper,” Satya says, softly smiling, “And ‘miss’ is just fine, Lieutenant.” 

“Ah, my apologies again, Ms. Vaswani,” Fareeha corrects herself, cheeks reddening slightly, “And yes, I do agree it is very odd. To be honest, these last few days have been so exhausting, both physically and emotionally.” 

“Then you must get some rest; you do look rather tired. Have a good evening, and thank you for the apology, Lieutenant Amari,” Satya says. She turns around and rounds the corner of the hallway, but just as Fareeha tries to call out to her again, Ana walks out of the room and drags her back inside to prove that yes, darling little Fareeha now has larger muscles than the cowboy. 

Satya walks back to her room in the medical ward in silence, her footsteps muffled by the sneakers Dr. Ziegler found for her. She thinks about the new addition, the chiseled Egyptian soldier with the eyes of a hawk that personally came to apologize for her own mother’s antics. She doesn’t stop thinking about Fareeha, not even after she returns to her room and falls back onto the bed, not bothering to shed off her clothes. 

“May our fates be entwined, Lieutenant Amari,” Satya whispers as she stares out the window at the last few rays of sunlight dipping under the undulating waves of the Mediterranean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey I hoped you liked that chapter! schedule update here: once again, because of life and stress, the next chapter will be 3 weeks from now (8/27), but it won't be a regular chapter per se? it's going to be one or two "intermission" chapters aka smaller chapters not involving symm that set up some stuff. the reason I'm doing this is that I need to see if I need to take a break from this fic bc I'm starting to feel burned out (rip) but I also don't want to just abandon this because abandoned fics are like top 10 anime betrayals and that's just not right


	6. Intermission 1, Part 1: the girl next door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> another night, another dream, just as usual

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy friday everyone! I just decided to post this early bc I was done so I thought "eh might as well?"
> 
> title is from: the girl next door (smile) - in love with a ghost

Fareeha hears the water, the rushing of a river, before she sees it. She opens her eyes and look across the riverbank, green with foliage and palm trees but peppered with patches of golden sand. The river, the familiar Nile, peacefully flows by, and several wooden boats float down the river, carrying crates of goods and livestock. 

“So, finally made your way back home, brother?” 

Fareeha turns her head away from the river and back to her companion. He is slouching forward on his gilded bench, the chin of his black wolf head resting on a bronze hand. He wears nothing except a fine linen shendyt and an elaborate silver collar. In front of him is a senet board made of pure turquoise and aqua-colored glass, and as far as Fareeha can tell, the game has not started yet. The sun blazes down on her bare skin and she feels like she’s burning alive. 

Business as usual, she thinks. She’s had this dream for as long as she could remember. This man in front of her, who she’s taken to calling Anubis, would ask her if she’d come back home and refer to her as “brother”. 

“See anyone interesting today?” her companion asks in a foreign language that she’s never heard yet understands completely. Many years ago, when Fareeha was just a child, she told her mother about the god that appeared in her dreams and spoke in a weird tongue. Her mother had simply given her a knowing smile and said that it was the language of her soul; it could only be heard and spoken by herself to herself. 

“Not really,” Fareeha sighs, “Just some old friends and new recruits. Had to apologize to someone because my mother and friend started a scene.” 

“Liar, liar, shendyt on fire!” Anubis cackles, “Although I think this heat already makes me feel like I’m being cooked alive. We really need to find a place with more shade. Anyways. You’re a terrible liar, brother.” 

“I’m…sorry? What do you mean?” 

This has never happened before in her dream. Normally, Fareeha just recounts the day and Anubis says it’s boring, and then she wakes up. 

“You met someone very, very interesting today, in fact! She was quite pretty, and probably quite intelligent too! Looked like a jewel if you ask me.” 

“Excuse me, but how do you know this?” 

Fareeha fans herself with her hand; Anubis really was right about the heat. 

“A little birdie told me; a friend of yours, perhaps? Hahaha, just kidding, I watched the whole thing through your eyes. We are the same, after all. Kind of.” 

Anubis shrugs his shoulders and leans back on the bench, clasping the edge of it with his clawed hands. He bobs his knees up and down and looks up to the pristine blue sky, empty of clouds. 

“I’m not following your line of thought,” Fareeha deadpans. 

“Well, brother, normally it’s an ‘I am thou, thou art I’ kind of situation, but since you had to go ahead and be special like that, it’s more like ‘I am what thou could have been, thou art the real one’. Just kind of a way to bounce off ideas really. You know how some people say that they hold entire conversations with their inner voice? It’s kinda like that. However, back to my main topic. Brother, Vaswani made a point of letting you know she was single.” 

Fareeha inhales sharply but in the wrong way and ends up coughing instead. She notices her coughs sound a lot screechier than they normally are. With each hack, she can feel the heat constricting around her, and it becomes heavy in her lungs. The taste of hot sand doesn’t help. 

“See! Hope for you yet. Brother, these next few months are going to be monumental for you, okay, and I mean it. This Vaswani, she’s going to be the light of your eyes, the star of your show, whatever else. Get ready, because trust me, you don’t want to fuck this up.” 

Fareeha doesn’t pay much attention to Anubis’ comments as she continues coughing. I feel like I’m drowning, she thinks, and then a flash of electric blue races through her mind, followed by a memory of a cool, witty smile and a request to be called Miss. 

“Hello? Anyone home?” Anubis asks, leaning over the senet board in concern, “Damn, go take a dip in the river and cool down, brother, I think the heat finally got to you. I’ll move our stuff under one of those trees while you refresh, okay?” 

Fareeha gets up with some effort and walks to the water in a daze of heat. The grass on the edge of the bank tickles her thighs and the mix of sand and soil crumbles under her footsteps. It’s not until her feet touch water that she looks down at her reflection and stops in her tracks. 

This is not her body. This is the body of a man with broad shoulders and dark skin who wears the same ancient attire as Anubis. Most astonishingly, where a human head should be, the gigantic head of a golden eagle is. Everything goes black in the dream, and Fareeha snaps her eyes open. It’s dark, cool, and quiet; Fareeha is in her bed in her room in Gibraltar. 

She sits up quickly, trying to comprehend what just happened. That dream normally didn’t go like that; yet another routine broken. The tattoo under her right eye tingles slightly, but before Fareeha can notice it, her 5:00 A.M. alarm goes off. She smacks the clock and takes a deep breath. If she was going to work here from now on, she might as well set a new daily routine. Time for a morning jog around the Watchpoint; if she timed this correctly, she would be able to see the sunrise while she was outside. 

Fareeha gets up out of bed and walks to the closet to see if someone left any spare clothing. Luckily enough, the moths didn’t get to an untouched set of black shirts and jogging shorts that fit her well enough, and within a few minutes Fareeha is out of the door. She glances at the door to the room right next to hers and walks to the other end of the hall. It’s not until she reaches the stairways that she realizes what the sign on her neighbor’s door says. She sprints down the hallway and nearly slips on the floor to stop herself right in front of her neighbor’s door. 

Of course, out of everyone in Overwatch, Satya Vaswani is her neighbor. 

Somewhere, on the riverbank of the Nile, resting under the shade of a tree and toying with a small turquoise board game piece, a man with a wolf’s head cackles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shendyt - "kilt-like garment worn in ancient Egypt" (src: wikipedia)  
> and anyone who's seen that big golden egyptology book in elementary school knows what [senet](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Senet) is
> 
> part 2 is on its way!


	7. Intermission 1, Part 2: place your money

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> elsewhere

Sanjay Korpal is ready to punch someone’s teeth out, preferably the teeth of the three men in dark suits seated in front of him across the dark wooden table in the dimly lit conference room. 

Unfortunately for Sanjay, of those three men, one was an Omnic and therefore didn’t have any teeth. Another was Akande Ogundimu and therefore was automatically not a good target for physical violence. As for the last one…well, Sanjay wasn’t sure what exactly Reaper was, much less what his dental structure was like. Sanjay simply had to make do with his anxious pacing across the room, slowly wearing down the sheen of the obsidian colored tiles on the floor. 

“What do you mean our contract is terminated? We had no idea what kind of information our agent in Overwatch would find in Oasis! Do you know how much money and time Vishkar Corporation has sunk into your organization?” Sanjay yells to the men in front of him. For some reason, they all look exceptionally bored. Reaper looks like he’s zoning out of a lecture, resting his head on one of his hands. 

“This has nothing to do with the data stolen from our post in Oasis. While we too found the relationship between our organizations most advantageous, our business ventures together must come to an end,” Akande says tersely, “We will not involve ourselves with organizations that insist on pursuing the power of Personas.” 

“There was nothing about this in our contract,” Sanjay hisses as he glares at the Talon council members, “Vishkar is free to pursue its own scientific interests as it sees fit. Why would you shy away from the greatest revolution in science, physics, even _reality_ since hard light?” 

“You don’t know what you’re getting into, Korpal,” Reaper growls, clacking the claws of one hand on the table in boredom, “The council has unanimously voted to terminate this relationship already. Just give it up already.” 

“I can’t believe that this group of terrorists would actually shy away from potentially omnipotent power! How weak can you be?” Sanjay shouts again, but the Omnic, Maximilien, glares back at him with sharp red eyes. 

“Talon is not weak, Mr. Korpal, merely cost-effective,” Maximilien says, “We have found that forcibly acquiring the power of Persona comes at such a high cost that it is not worth it -” 

“What the hell do you mean ‘not worth it’? If you are so blind that you will not bring about this revolution in, in, in _everything_ , then perhaps it is best that we part ways. I will never understand why you refuse a power that would make you on the same level as a god.” 

Sanjay jumps at a loud crack; Reaper’s claws have latched into the edge of the table. He tilts his hand and breaks off a chunk of the table in front of him like nothing, crushing it in his hand and seeping out what little living matter was in the wood, disintegrating it into dust. Akande glances at him with an annoyed look, but says nothing and mentally notes to himself to order a new table. 

“Like a god, huh,” Reaper says carefully, unusually still, “Who would ever want to be a god for that price? Do you want to find out how much it costs, Sanjay?” 

Sanjay backs away from the table, but his back collides with the two Talon guards behind him. They each place a hand on his shoulders. 

“Mr. Korpal, it is time that our meeting comes to an end,” Maximilien says as Sanjay is led out of the room, “Our contract is terminated. Please remove all of your company’s assets from our locations and we will do the same. After that, should Vishkar Corporation decide to give up their research on Personas, we would be more than happy to draw up another agreement again. Thank you for your time, and have a good evening.” 

The doors open and close unceremoniously, and the room is deathly silent again. Maximilen leans back into his leather chair and sends out a recall message all Talon agents from Vishkar with his internal computer. Akande lets out a deep sigh as he looks at the damage to the table again. 

“Mahogany, Gabriel,” Akande murmurs. Reaper lets out a disinterested ‘hm’ as he lets the dust seep through his palm, past the hole in the table, and onto the pitch-black tile of the floor, obscuring the shadowy reflection of a man who paid too much.


	8. Getting Warmer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> recovery; a return to normalcy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AIN'T DEAD Y'ALL

The day that Satya is discharged from the medbay marks a full week since Fareeha and company arrive at Gibraltar.  Had Dr. Ziegler had her way, Satya suspects she would’ve been there for at least another two weeks just so the good doctor could unravel the medical mystery that was her Persona.  However, she needed to get back to her work for Vishkar, and the sooner she got her prosthetic back from Torbjörn, the better.  Her sendoff was far less dramatic than her entry (just a checklist that the doctor needed to go through) and after changing into a light turquoise dress that Hana had brought her from her room, Satya was free.

As Satya walks out of Angela’s pristine white office and out onto an outdoor metal walkway, the intense heat from the sun and the smell of grilled meat takes her a little bit by surprise.  She shields her eyes from the glare of the sun with her hand and peers down to a small plaza, partially shaded by a rocky outcrop, where it appears that several other agents are having a barbeque.  A mishmash of tables and chairs are scattered around the plaza, shaded either by the rocks above or with a faded porch umbrella, while a set of grills and a table with sides and beverages are being managed by two agents, though Satya can’t really make out who they are.

 _That’s right, it’s the first day of summer_ , Satya remembers. 

A slightly redheaded mop of slick brown hair peeks out from under an umbrella to look at up at her.  “Hey Satya, come down here! It’s lunchtime and Soldier’s grilling for all of us!” Lena shouts up to her, waving her hands, “Seriously, you’ve gotta try this stuff!”

Satya gives a nod and waves back before turning to look for some stairs down.  It takes a few minutes to make her way down, but when she finally makes her way to the plaza, she’s met with a rousing cheer from her fellow agents. 

“Congrats on escaping from Angela!” Jesse laughs as he makes his way to Satya, one arm holding a crutch, “For real though, I’m glad you’re alright.  I know it hurts like hell to have your prosthetic malfunction on you, plus you had the whole Persona thing goin’ on.  Glad to have you back, Satya.”

“A cheer for all of our recent medbay escapees!” Lena joins in, raising a can of beer in the air, “Congratulations!”

“Congrats!” the party cheers.  Satya can’t help but smile a little and feel her face warm up from emotion, even though for some reason she feels a chill coming from the direction of the medbay.  Jesse and Lena lead her to the grills, where Soldier and Hana are preparing all the food. The moment that Satya sees what Soldier is wearing though, she stops in her tracks. 

“Soldier. What. Are. You. Wearing,” she deadpans.  The man wearing a scarlet Hawaiian shirt, a tactical-looking blue apron, khaki shorts, and – oh gods – _socks with sandals_ , could not possibly be the super soldier that broke into one of the most heavily defended “defunct” military bases in the world.  If her first impression of this man had been characterized by pure fear, then her second impression completely overrode with secondhand embarrassment.  Satya glances to Hana, who is thankfully wearing a far more chic red flannel blouse and blue jeans.

“Don’t criticize your chef’s fashion sense, otherwise you might not get any food,” he laughs as he flips a veggie burger and some grilled pineapple off the grill and onto a paper plate and hands it to Hana.  She puts the burger in a bun, tosses some ramen salad and sweet potato fries onto the plate, and places a plastic fork on an empty portion of the plate.

“Heal up, Satya!” Hana says with a smile, and Satya thanks her.  Jesse takes a lemonade from Hana and meanders over the grills to start up a conversation with Soldier about barbeque sauce recipes. Lena also grabs a can of lemonade for Satya, and the pair make their way to a white wooden porch table under the shade, shared by Hanzo and Torbjörn.

“Ah, Vaswani, I’m almost done fixin’ yer prosthetic,” Torbjörn says as Satya takes a seat, “You’ll be able to get back to yer work in a day or two.”

“Thank you, I am incredibly grateful for your assistance,” Satya replies as she picks up her burger.  She takes a single, cautionary bite of her burger.

It’s the best food she’s ever had in her life.  The burger is gone within a minute.

“Told ya it was good!” Lena laughs.

 _Exquisite_ , Oasis says in Satya’s mind, _Impressive. Perfection._

“By the way, Vaswani, I’ve got somethin’ to discuss with you about space in the workshop,” Torbjörn says, “You know that mech suit container that’s right next to your workspace? Do you need it for anything?”

“No, I don’t. Why do you ask?” Satya asks.  Truthfully, before she went on the Oasis mission, she had thought about moving it elsewhere in the workshop.

“Because my mother got me put on sabbatical,” a familiar voice says behind her.  Satya turns around to find a grimacing Fareeha and a beaming Ana behind her. 

“Think of it as a long working vacation, Fareeha,” Ana quips, “Travel the world, see the sights, lay waste to your enemies, try new foods.  You know, the usual.  I’m pretty sure you had the PTO anyway.”

“Why do you know that? Actually, never mind, don’t answer that,” Fareeha sighs as she takes a seat beside Satya.  Ana finds a seat across from her daughter.

“Anyway, Miss Vaswani, the reason why Torby’s asking is because I need a mount for my Raptora suit.  You don’t mind if I use it?”  Fareeha asks.

“Oh, not at all,” Satya says calmly.  _Lt. Amari is right next to me in a tight black t-shirt and gym shorts like a model right out of a Nike ad,_ she thinks frantically.  _Satya, you are a 28-year-old woman, do not act like a teenage girl about a very attractive woman to whom you’ve only spoken 51 words._

“Alright, that’s good to hear,” Torbjörn interjects, “Fareeha, I’ll set up a workbench for you if that’s alright with you.  Just let me know what tools you’ll need and I’ll see if I can find ‘em.”

 _We’re going to be working in the same space,_ Satya thinks as she takes a stab at her salad with her fork.

“By the way, Vaswani, did you know that your room is right next to Fareeha’s?” Ana says, “I hope she doesn’t trouble you too much.  You have my full permission to prank her if she plays her rock music too loud.”

 _We’re going to live right next to each other,_ Satya thinks less calmly as Fareeha starts bickering with her mother.  She takes a bite of the ramen salad (equally as delicious as the burger) and looks up to see Hanzo and Lena quickly look away from her.  Lena turns back and mouths the word “nice” to her with a smug grin.  Hanzo is ever so subtly smiling as he drinks from a sake cup.

 _Oh, this is going to be good,_ Oasis whispers. 

 ---

Five in the morning the next day, Satya is briefly roused by the sound of an alarm clock on the other side of her wall.  A few muffled footsteps, a _swish_ as her neighbor’s door opens, and several more footsteps fade into the silence.  Satya lies back down on her bed and goes back to sleep for a few more hours.  Breakfast isn’t until eight anyways.

Eight o’clock sharp finds Satya striding into the kitchen, hair in a bun and immaculately dressed in a plain robin’s egg blue t-shirt and black lounge pants.  The only other agents in the kitchen are Jesse (nursing some instant coffee), Angela (nursing a stronger blend of instant coffee), and Ana (sipping actual coffee out of a teacup), huddled around a table half-asleep.  It was McCree’s turn to make breakfast today, and he has set out an arrangement of Southern home cooking; Satya can almost feel the grease from the bacon permeating the air around her and clinging to her skin, but she hastily procures a meal of cheese grits, sliced oranges, and a yogurt parfait, and finds a seat at a separate table.  The other agents don’t make a move to invite her to their table; Satya is pretty sure that Angela is just asleep at this point.  The elder Amari tiredly glances at Satya, but turns her attention back to her coffee.

Eight thirty, and an extra helping of breakfast later, Satya rinses off her dishes in the kitchen sink and places them in the dishwasher.  The kitchen is bustling now, with most of the other agents mingling amongst one another.  The omnics and Genji are missing, as Satya expected, as is Hana, which means that she was up all night again streaming video games.  _Boundless energy, that one_ , Satya thinks as she walks out the kitchen and almost walks right into a wall of Fareeha. 

"Sorry, Ms. Vaswani, didn’t mean to get in your way!  And good morning!” Fareeha yelps as she walks past her and into the kitchen.

“Ah, um, good morning to you too…” Satya says as she watches the lieutenant pass her, and all she can think of is the gleam of steel and its strength. 

 _Maybe get to know her, hm?_ Oasis muses as Satya heads back to her room to get dressed.

Nine, and the daily debriefing.  No new missions, just hunker down while Athena keeps on decrypting the Talon drive, Winston relays.  Business as usual.

Nine fifteen, and now there are three in the engineer’s workshop instead of two.  Satya is grateful to be back here; the sleek metal tables and wooden stools feel like a home away from home, although the base has felt like home for a while now.  Still.  She’s more comfortable here than anywhere else on base. 

Satya takes a seat at Torbjörn’s workbench and has him reattach her prosthetic.  Little sparks of nerve connections quickly prick her mind, but they pass as soon as they came and she can feel her other arm again. Maybe, just maybe, it feels a little better than before the incident, the joints moving more smoothly, the precision a bit more…precise.  She lets him make some adjustments after she demonstrates her range of movement to him.  Meanwhile, in the center of the room, Fareeha is putting together the mech suit mount, a black metal frame vaguely mimicking the silouhette of a human. Her Raptora suit is scattered in pieces around her. The mount is almost completely assembled, but Fareeha scratches her head and lets out a groan.

“Hey Torby, I think this mount is missing a piece,” Fareeha complains with her back to Torbjörn, “Do we have any extra arm mounts?”

“Sorry, no we don’t” Torbjörn says, but then he stops working on Satya’s prosthetic and his eyes light up in epiphany.  “Actually, Satya, you want to test out your hard-light functions? Do you think you could create a replica of the arm mount?”

 _It wouldn’t even be child’s play_ , she thinks, but she just nods.  Fareeha shows her a matching part, a rectangular base with two adjustable cable loops.  With a wave of her hands, Satya creates a perfect sparkling white replica.  Fareeha’s eyes light up in excitement.

“I’ve seen the promotional videos where you architechs make entire buildings like that, but I’ve never actually seen someone create something out of hard light in person,” Fareeha whispers, staring in awe at the hard-light part, “That’s so cool!” Satya blushes from the praise as she hands Fareeha the creation.  She picks it up, gingerly testing the cable loops.  Despite the rigidity implied in the term “hard-light”, the loops themselves are as flexible as the original ones, and Fareeha keeps playing

“How does it work?” Fareeha asks as she turns back to Satya.  Her entire face sparkles with the child-like excitement of discovery.

“That is, um…” Satya stammers out.  _Oh gods, how could I possibly explain it?_ she thinks, _I can’t even get most of the company architechs to understand the fundamentals of it, let alone a layman.  More importantly, though…_

“That is confidential Vishkar information, Lieutenant,” Satya says uneasily.  _Though it really shouldn’t be_ , she thinks.

“Oh, that’s too bad,” Fareeha says with a dejected shrug, “Sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”  Satya nods in acceptance and is equally sad to see that happiness fade away, but she turns back to Torbjörn so he can finish adjusting her arm.  Eventually, she returns to her workbench to pick up her neglected work.  As she expected, a stream of emails from her colleagues is waiting in her inbox.  However, there is not one mention of Personas from Sanjay, although he certainly must have made the connection by now.  In fact, it is as if that metaphorical elephant is being ignored altogether by her employer, and it puts Satya on edge. 

“Whatever,” she mutters to herself.  There are just some things she will never understand about Vishkar.  Better to busy herself with work than let it worry her.

Hours pass in the workshop as Satya weaves together entire cities with light and Torbjörn builds a new turret prototype.  Fareeha finishes putting together the mech suit mount, stealing glances at Satya’s mini city every now and then, and spends the rest of the day setting up a computer at her own workbench.  In the late afternoon, just before dinner, she dons the Raptora and beckons the engineers outside onto the roof to watch her practice.  The setting sun blazes down on the trio, the sea breeze a pitiful respite from the heat.  There is no other noise other than the waves crashing on the rocks below; none of the other agents seem to want to deal with the heat.

“So I get to see the famous Helix rocket jump?” Torbjörn asks her.

“Rocket jump? That sounds dangerous,” Satya comments, and Fareeha grins at her. 

“Watch this, Ms. Vaswani,” Fareeha says, and then with a gust of wind she’s gone yards into the sky above.  Satya snaps her neck up to find the lieutenant.  The gleaming blue steel figure in the sky bobs up and down who knows how high up in the sky, and then she glides with the wind, twisting and turning with the precision of a falcon.  Fareeha makes it look so easy, even though Satya knows that it probably took the lieutenant years of technical education and practice to even be competent enough to pilot a Raptora suit.  _How many variables does she have to keep track of while in the air?  Does she need a pilot’s license to operate this?  Isn’t she essentially a pilot?  How does she stay upright?  How does she counteract the recoil of the rocket launcher?_   Satya’s mind keeps churning out questions as the lieutenant swoops down towards her and Torbjörn.

Fareeha lands next to the engineers, her metal books colliding with the roof of the building and sending a small dust cloud upwards.  She pries off her helmet and shakes her hair loose, and suddenly Satya is right beside her asking a thousand questions a minute and poking at the Raptora suit.  Torbjörn watches on fondly as a frazzled Fareeha trying her best to satisfy Satya’s intense scientific curiosity.  He climbs down off the roof and walks back indoors, towards the cafeteria as the sun sets.  The rocket jump really was something.

The Raptora suit is all Satya can talk about for the next few hours.  Fareeha goes to bed somehow knowing more about her own suit than she ever had in her life.

 ---

Five in the morning the next day, Satya is briefly roused by the sound of an alarm clock on the other side of her wall.  A few muffled footsteps, a _swish_ as Lieutenant Amari’s door opens, and several more footsteps fade into the silence.  Satya lies back down on her bed and goes back to sleep for a few more hours.  Breakfast isn’t until eight anyways.

The day is much like it was the day before.  Fareeha does another test flight at Satya’s request.  The architech has even more questions this time.

And the next day is like the last.

And the next day Fareeha is enamored by Satya’s literal worldbuilding and ends up getting a crash course in urban planning. 

And the next day Satya enlists Fareeha to help her test certain hard-light constructs at high altitudes.  Fareeha thinks there’s something awfully pretty about the way Satya laughs hysterically as she conjures up another prototype after Fareeha accidentally dropped the last one from over 100 yards above the ground.

And the next day “Ms. Vaswani” becomes “Satya” and “Lieutenant Amari” becomes “Fareeha”.

And the next day Torbjörn calls his wife and asks her if she remembers what they were like when they were young and in love.  Ingrid asks him why he’s thinking about that; he laughs and says that there are a couple of lovebirds on base.

And the next day, Oasis asks Satya if she’s ever had a friend like this, as if she doesn’t already know the answer. 

And the next week Satya no longer wakes up every time her neighbor’s 5 o’clock alarm goes off.  When she does, she always says “good morning” even though she’s not sure if the other person can hear her.

And the next week Fareeha adjusts her morning workout schedule so she can have breakfast with her architech friend and fellow agent.  Sometimes, she can feel at least a pair and a half of eyes on her back, even though she knows that the usual suspects are always halfway comatose at this time of day.

And the next week goes by, same as the last.

And the next.

And the next.

And so, the summer days drift down like a lazy river, blending happy days together with the heat of the sun and blue steel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys sorry for not posting for the last few months, irl things took over and I couldn't work on this ;-; the good news is that _hopefully_ I should at least be able to post the next chapter by the end of january. by then I should know if I'll be able to go back to a biweekly schedule.


	9. This Is Not How You Get Fired

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> not that anyone here would know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, crawling out of my grave: procrastination seduced me like calypso seduced odysseus for seven years but I am finally free and now I journey towards my promised ithaca

The metal walls of the medical bay are ice cold against Satya’s sweat-drenched back, a far cry from the blazing heat outside.  She wipes the back of her flesh hand across her forehead, smears of equal parts blood and sweat painting her skin.  Her breath is ragged and hoarse, and smells faintly of copper.  All she wants to do is curl up on the dull gray tiles and sleep, but the adrenaline has yet to wear off.

The door next to her slides open, and Dr. Ziegler walks out.  She almost trips over Satya, and the architech clutches to herself even tighter. 

“Satya, how long have you been here?” Dr. Ziegler quietly asks as she crouches down to Satya’s eye level.  Satya draws her head behind her knees; it’s been a hell of a day and everything is too much right now.  She drowns out the doctor’s quiet inquiries as she replays in her mind the events of the past hour once again.

\---

After weeks of silence from her home office, it is work that signals the end of Satya’s pseudo-sabbatical in the same way it began: with a meeting.  She’s having lunch with Fareeha and Torbjörn on a small bench in the center of the workshop when her visor on her work bench starts pinging.

“Video call from Sanjay Korpal.  Video call from Sanjay Korpal,” a monotone masculine voice echoes from the visor’s speakers.  Satya turns back to her bench, eyebrows scrunched in confusion.  Sanjay had only contacted her by written email since she started working with Overwatch.  Why was he contacting her this way?

“I’m terribly sorry, but I need to take this,” Satya apologizes to her colleagues.  Torbjörn and Fareeha merely shrug in response.

“No problem Satya, take your time,” Fareeha says.  Satya walks back to her desk and snatches the visor off the table, her hand muffling the robotic voice alert.  She walks just outside of the workshop as she puts on the visor, leans against a wall in the corridor, and accepts the call.  The AR overlay in her visor pixelates and rearranges itself into Sanjay’s pristine white office.  The gigantic windows behind him reveal the bright blue sky and city line of Utopaea, the diamond of India.  Sanjay leans back on a dark blue plush office chair behind a white hard-light desk, directly facing Satya.  There are several light blue projections of other people standing around his desk, all teleconferencing into the room the same way Satya is.

“Good afternoon, Symmetra,” Sanjay says.

“Greetings, Sanjay. Good afternoon, everyone. Has something urgent happened?”

“Kind of.  Have you fully recovered from the incident in Oasis?”  

_He’s only asking this now?_   Satya thinks.

“I am back to perfect health.”

“Good.  Actually, that is very good, because there is another operation that you have be assigned to for tonight,” Sanjay says.

“What?!”

“Vishkar Corporation has concluded that our relationship with Overwatch is no longer productive, and will be moving along the timeline to the final stage.  Several Vishkar representatives will be arriving at your location at 7:00 P.M. in your time zone to finalize the closing of this deal.  You are to do as they order and return to Vishkar Corporation HQ with them.”

“But why?”

“That question has many answers, all of which you have experience firsthand, Symmetra.  The Shrike, Soldier: 76, and Fareeha Amari.  The incident in Oasis.  Your failure to remove dos Santos as an obstacle to Vishkar Corporation’s mission.  The hard drive Overwatch acquired in Oasis.  Your Persona.  Do I need to go on?  Vishkar Corporation is consolidating many operations into one, and you are to play your part tonight.  It would be appreciated if you could prepare for the operation.  Perhaps catch up on some work you have yet to finish?  Maybe get a head start on some other tasks?”  Satya can barely process the information Sanjay speaks in such a professional tone– is finally speaking about - but she pulls out her best poker face and steels herself for more. 

“What does Lt. Amari have to do with this?”  Satya quietly hisses.  “Why is Vishkar Corporation interested in what Overwatch found?  Why do you even know what a Persona is?” Sanjay slightly raises an eyebrow and leans forward.

“Overwatch has gained too many powerful people, and the lieutenant is one of them.  There was confidential Vishkar Corporation information on that drive that Overwatch must not get their hands on at any cost.  As for Personas, well…we have our sources.  Vishkar Corporation is very interested in the powers it displayed, and upon your return, you will be absolutely critical in the corporation’s new Persona research effort. You are our single lab sample.”

“Why was Vishkar information even inside Talon’s computer systems? Sanjay, what is going on?”

“You do not need to know that, Symmetra.  You are not in a good position right now, you know.  If dos Santos is not eliminated by the end of this night, you will face the consequences, albeit they will be mitigated by the fact that your physical wellbeing is important to our new line of research.  Do you understand?”

Satya can feel the snake baring its fangs at her throat, the venom oh so close to her skin.  And yet she knew what the end was supposed to be all along, from that very first meeting where she was chosen as Vishkar’s “liaison” so many months ago.   Dos Santos dies, Overwatch falls, Vishkar reigns queen. 

However, distance has a way of making people forget.  Out of sight, out of mind, as they say, and Vishkar had been directly out of sight for a long time now.  What would a confrontation between her company and Overwatch even look like?

Which side would she be on?

“We expect your full cooperation, Agent Symmetra,” one of the holographic forms says, and the AR feed suddenly cuts out from Satya’s visor.  The architect lets out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding in.  She crosses her arms and rubs her hands on her arms; she imagines that she can feel the goosebumps on her organic arm.  Satya has to push her back against the wall to keep herself upright, partially to let the wave of AR-induced nausea recede, but mostly to steady herself against her racing mind.  She’d been part of many Vishkar operations; always in a supporting role, but complicit nonetheless. 

The doors to the workshop slide open with a metallic hiss, and Fareeha peeks her head out of entryway. 

“Is everything alright, Satya?” Fareeha says as she approaches the architech.  Satya looks up at Fareeha, sees the worry in her eyes, and thinks that such a face should never look like that.  It should be carved in stone as a monument to justice, stoic but protective, a knight riding into battle.  If Vishkar were to try to take that away, what would she do?

 _You have always known the answer_ , Oasis whispers into her ears, _now_ _seize it, Symmetra!_

Satya suddenly shifts her weight off of the wall, turning completely towards Fareeha.  This time, it is Fareeha who feels nauseous; through her left eye she sees the slightly disheveled Satya Vaswani, her brown eyes dimly sparking with confidence; through her right eye she sees another woman that looks like Satya, but feels sharper (as if the curve of flesh was sharpened into the straight edges of stone), more hostile, giving her a piercing stare belying raw power and intelligence with her golden eyes.  _Everything will be okay_ , the left seems to say, _I will not fail_ , the right follows.

“Oasis, do everything in your power to protect the people on this watchpoint,” Satya says, and the Persona materializes at her side, her size scaled down to Satya’s height.  She nods and floats through a wall, disappearing to run her business.  Fareeha stares at the spot in the wall where Oasis passed through for a few moments, wondering if this is a nausea-induced hallucination ( _Does that even exist?_ she thinks).  Rapid chattering in front of her draws her attention back to Satya, who has called up Winston through her visor about something and walking back into the workshop.  Satya grabs onto one of Fareeha’s bicep and pulls her back into the workshop as well; the soldier catches snippets of the conversation: Talon, Vishkar, attack, soon. 

“With all due respect Agent Vaswani, how can I trust your information?” Fareeha hears Winston say through Satya’s headphones.  Both of them frown a little at that, but Satya has an answer prepared for that already. 

“You can’t yet, but you should,” Satya says, “It was Vishkar with the help of Talon that attacked the plaza in Oasis.  I was to assist them in killing dos Santos.  You already know this though.  But you don’t know that Vishkar doesn’t want you to know what’s on that drive, because it would compromise their relationship with you, and so they warned me when they would act.  But I know how Vishkar operates firsthand; they will attack before we are prepared.  They want me to disable as many of you as possible.  They want me to kill dos Santos.  I will neither hurt nor kill my fellow agents, Winston, because my employer wants me to be their next experiment.”

“Are you saying that you’re leaving Vishkar for us, Agent Vaswani?”

“Ye-“

A notification pops up right in the middle of her visor:

 

**You chose wrong.**

 

Her gut goes ice cold when she reads those words.  She thinks she hears Winston saying ‘Agent Vaswani?’ into her headphones, but another voice whispers to her from somewhere else.

_Get rid of it get rid of it it’s not safe Symmetra your arm your arm there’s something planted Symmetra hurry up get them out of here it’s going to explode –_

Satya tears off her visor and headphones frantically and throws them to her workbench.  The plastic on the visor cracks against the metal desk and Winston’s voice cuts out from the headphones.

“Satya, what’s wrong?” Fareeha asks, almost yelling, but Satya doesn’t listen to her.  The architech goes at her own prosthetic arm, trying to undo the clasps into her shoulder, but they refuse to come apart like they should.  She tries to conjure up hard light, but nothing comes out; the lights in her arm have gone out. 

“Those bastards!” she hisses.  It’s getting harder for her to breathe, like the python named Vishkar has wrapped itself around her chest and is squeezing the life out of her.

“SATYA!”  Fareeha says, grasping Satya’s face with her hands.  Satya violently pushes herself away though.

“Stay away from me!” Satya yells, and Fareeha sees one woman again, desperate and panicking, with golden eyes begging for someone, anyone, to help her.  She hears a pop and sees the visor just behind Satya sparking and smoking; a few more pops, and the many trinkets on her workbench follow suit.  Satya’s arm gives off a loud crackling sound and Satya hisses and falls to one knee, clutching at her metal arm. 

“Oasis, I need you…” Satya whispers.

Oasis phases through a whiteboard on the wall and glides over to Satya.  She pins Satya’s back to the side of the workbench, conjures a rapier of hard light, points it to the joint between metal and flesh, and thrusts.  The prosthetic drops to the ground, its wires cleanly severed, and Satya crumples to the ground with a scream. The rapier disintegrates, leaving only a hole in the side of the desk.  Oasis tosses the arm onto the workbench with one arm and uses three others to grab onto Satya.  The arm is sparking more and more, flopping on the metal table like a fish out of water.  The sound it makes, metal hitting against metal in an unnatural rhythm, leaves Fareeha feeling sick.  Limbs shouldn’t move like that, flesh or artificial. She tries to go to Satya again, but Torbjörn pulls her away. 

“Get away from that desk!” he yells, “It’s not safe!”

And to prove his point, the visor explodes.  Oasis shields Satya with her body and raises a shield in front of the other engineers, blocking shards of plastic and metal.  A piece of plastic grazes Satya’s head, and blood slowly drips down her forehead.  She quickly floats over to them, carrying a shaking but conscious Satya in her arms and dumps her into Fareeha’s arms.  The architech clutches at Fareeha, her cold skin raising goosebumps on Fareeha’s arms.  A loud vibrating from behind her grabs their attention, and all of them see the prosthetic arm shaking more and more violently.

“Get down!” Oasis yells at Fareeha and Torbjörn as she conjures up two massive shields, one around Satya’s work space and another one around the engineers, as the contents of Satya’s desk explode and the arm shoots out humongous bolts of electricity.  The shield around the desk contains most of the explosion, but shrapnel pierces through several points and embed themselves into the walls and ceiling.  A piece of a sentry lodges itself into the shield protecting Fareeha and the others; had it pierced through, it would have ended up in her leg. 

Oasis floats out of the safety of her shield and towards the wreckage of the work bench.  Beam of light shoot out of hands and latch onto any remaining functioning tech in the rubble, destroying it before it can go off.  The fire alarms go off and the sprinklers turn on, putting out the small fires.

“Agents, are you okay?  What happened? I can’t see anything in the camera through the smoke,” Winston’s voice comes onto an overhead speaker.

“All of Satya’s tech blew up on us, Winston!  Satya and her Persona saved us, but she needs medical attention right now!  She literally cut off her own prosthetic!” Fareeha yells.

“Okay, get everyone out of that room and into the hallway for now.  I’ll send Dr. Ziegler down ASAP,” Winston says.

“Might also want to send someone down with a fire extinguisher to check on Satya’s dorm, Winston,” Torbjörn adds, “I’m thinking that Vishkar remotely detonated all of her equipment.”

“Will do.  Something must have, because it looks like the sprinkler went off there too – wait, who are those people down there?”

“Oasis…” Satya croaks out.  The Persona silently nods and zips out of the room.  Torbjörn and Fareeha follow suit, with Fareeha carrying Satya in her arms.  As they leave the workshop, they see Angela with her staff and a bag of equipment and Lúcio playing fast-paced music sprinting towards them.  Lúcio switches the music quickly when they catch up with the engineers, changing to something calmer.  Fareeha gently sets Satya down on the ground and clasps her shaking hand.

“Angela’s here, you’re going to be alright,” she whispers as the doctor activates the staff and begins healing Satya.  Satya’s shaking lessens and eventually stops after several minutes, her breathing becomes more even, and Fareeha can feel the heat returning to her hand.  The architech opens her eyes and looks up to Fareeha with brown eyes.

“…thank you,” Satya says.  She pulls herself up to a seated position with Fareeha’s help, back against the metal wall, and looks down to where her prosthetic hand been.  The cut was clean, but the cables and clasps in her shoulder will have to be surgically replaced.  _At least I wasn’t electrocuted again_ , she thinks.

“How are you feeling?” Angela asks. 

“Much better, thank you,” Satya replies, “Are you aware of what’s happening?”

“As far as we know, your crazy company thinks that they can take us down,” Lúcio quips as he holds an earpiece into his ears, “Athena’s got the place on lockdown, and whatever employees that made it in before your Persona messed with their teleporter are being hunted down.  Speaking of hunting,” and Lúcio rummages through Angela’s bag before handing Torbjörn and Fareeha two pistols and magazines, “just in case.”

“Thanks,” Fareeha says as she pockets the magazines, “What’s the plan right now?”

“Winston wants as many people as possible sniffing out the Vishkar cronies.  Anyone who’s otherwise occupied or injured should go somewhere safe and stay on the line for further orders.  Our goal right now is getting out of here and heading to the med bay; the staff only does so much, and the bay is more secure than the rest of the base.”

“Let us depart,” Satya says as she tries to stand on wobbly legs.  Fareeha helps her up and Angela increases the intensity of the healing beam.  Within seconds, Satya can walk normally, and the group runs out of the hallway, making twists and turns and sprinting through outdoor walkways.  Lúcio has the music turned down low, but it keeps everyone lighter on their feet. 

They’re almost at the medbay, running through a hangar and darting between crates of equipment, when several shadowy figures in white and purple uniforms walk out from behind a pillar.  Everyone in the group halts except for Fareeha, who launches forward with her momentum and shoots the Vishkar assailants.  Each one crumples to the ground in agony, clutching at a limb or their torso.  Fareeha waves the group forward with her hand, and they begin to move forward when a shot rings out and the Egyptian collapses onto the pavement.  A pool of red pools out from underneath her body.

“FAREEHA!” Satya yells.  Torbjörn leaps out from behind the crate and shoots at an overhead walkway; he doesn’t hit his target, but Satya sees a figure slip behind a doorway.  Her skin crawls with hatred as she summons Oasis. 

“Oasis, we are _finishing_ this,” Satya hisses.  Oasis materializes behind her.

“Of course,” Oasis says coldly, and with a flourish of her hands Satya is teleported in front of Fareeha’s shooter.  They try to shoot point blank, but Satya’s fist is faster than the reflexes of someone being ambushed, and the Vishkar employee is knocked to the ground.

“Gather them.  Bring them to me.  I have a message for that bastard Sanjay,” she snarls as she walks down the stairs and back out to the hangar.  Satya’s heart drops as she sees Angela and Torbjörn quickly carry a bleeding Fareeha into the med bay on the other side of the room.  Lúcio is beside them, talking to someone in an earpiece.   She wants to be at Fareeha’s side now, but for some reason it fills her with guilt.

Satya walks out of the hangar and out into the open, gazing out to the ocean.  The sun burns overhead, heating her head and back.  Once again, it hurts for her to breathe, and she clutches at her chest.  She drops to her knees and lets out a piercing scream. 

 _I knew, I knew it all along! I would only bring pain!_ Satya thinks.

 _But it hurts because you are finally on the receiving end,_ Symmetra thinks.

_I was a danger to these people who have been nothing but kind to me._

_I guarantee you, everyone here is a danger to each other._

_I should’ve never come here!_

_You had no choice.  Get up.  Move forward.  You cannot make progress this way._

_And Symmetra is right as always_ , Satya thinks as she stands up, her palms grazing against the hot pavement of the short runway.  A thud behind her and some pained groans behind her grab her attention. Oasis floats above; she had teleported all of the employees to Satya, all in various states of injury.  Only minutes ago, Symmetra had been in their shoes, a loyal agent of Vishkar Corporation; now, she was their greatest enemy.  _How things must change to make progress_ , Satya thinks. 

“Traitor!” one of them spits out, along with some blood.  It almost reaches her shoes.  She walks forward to the employee and lifts his head by his short black hair.

“No, I chose correctly,” she says, staring holes into the man’s face, her gold eyes swirling with a dangerous mix of anger and hatred, “You chose wrong.”

She lets go of the man’s head; it drops and hits the ground, and the man groans in pain.  She looks up to Oasis and nods.  Oasis lifts all eight of her arms and brings her hands together into four pairs.  With a resounding clap, the Vishkar employees disappear.  Satya collapses to the ground, breathing heavily into her hands.

“I will tell Winston that it is over,” Oasis says as she floats closer to Satya, “Get some rest.”  Satya nods her head, and when she looks up, Oasis is gone again.  She gets up and walks slowly to the med bay; she sees Torbjörn, who tells her where Fareeha’s room is.  But when she gets there, she can’t bring herself to enter.  This entire day…was her fault.  She sits down on the floor beside the door and waits.  For how long, she doesn’t know

 ---

The metal walls of the medical bay are ice cold against Satya’s sweat-drenched back, a far cry from the blazing heat outside.  She wipes the back of her flesh hand across her forehead, smears of equal parts blood and sweat painting her skin.  Her breath is ragged and hoarse, and smells faintly of copper.  All she wants to do is curl up on the dull gray tiles and sleep, but the adrenaline has yet to wear off.

The door next to her slides open, and Dr. Ziegler walks out.  She almost trips over Satya, and the architech clutches to herself even tighter. 

“Satya, how long have you been here?” Dr. Ziegler quietly asks as she crouches down to Satya’s eye level.  Satya draws her head behind her knees; it’s been a hell of a day and everything is too much right now.  She drowns out the doctor’s quiet inquiries, and Angela takes the hint.

“…I understand, but I can’t leave you here.   Would you like to come in and see Fareeha, or would you like to rest on a cot?"

“…Cot,” Satya whispers, “Please.”  The doctor smiles gently.

“Of course.  Let’s get you to bed,” Dr. Ziegler whispers, and she helps up Satya.  The doctor’s hand is cooler than her own, and it makes Satya want that much more to collapse into a cold bed.  She doesn’t know how long it takes, or which room she even ends up in, or when the doctor handed her a towel to wipe away the blood and grime, but she knows that there is a bed and she falls face-first onto it, slipping into fitful slumber within seconds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear to god I'm going to try to update more often these coming weeks


	10. It's All In Your Head/It's All In Your Hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one's a little shorter than normal

“Oh Pharah, Pharah, Pharah, aren’t you the courageous hero?”

Fareeha blearily opens her eyes to the sound of someone’s nasal cackling.  Her vision is blurry, but she can make out several objects in the dimly lit room: the hospital bed she’s lying in, a small leather swivel stool on the other end of her room, some forest-green privacy curtains, a few metal folding chairs to her left, and a half-naked man with a wolf’s head lying across the chairs.  She blinks rapidly and stares down at Anubis.

“You know, you’re very good at skirting the line between life and death.  Remember when that God AI named after me killed some of your comrades?  You were far luckier than you think.  Far, far luckier.  Congrats on another feather in your cap!”

“Why are you here?” she whispers.  The grin on the wolf’s face grows comically larger.

“Why are any of us here?  Your kind has been asking that question since you all could barf out sounds that I call words, what makes you think I know the answer to that question?”

“Answer me, Anubis.”

“Nah.”

“What?”

“I said ‘nah’.”

“I know what you are.  You are supposed to answer to me –“ 

Anubis leaps off the chairs and shoves his face inches away from Fareeha’s, staring her down.  The golden fibers in the irises of his eyes are crystal clear to her. 

“PHARAH, IT SEEMS AS IF YOU HAVEN’T LISTENED TO A FUCKING WORD I’VE SAID FOR THE PAST 32 YEARS OF YOUR LIFE,” Anubis howls, “I. AM. NOT. THOU.”  Fareeha scrambles back on her cot, but she only manages to separate them by an inch.  Anubis leans away from the bed and cups his chin. 

“Or at least _technically_ not,” he muses, “ Remember, I’m what could’ve been, not what you are.  I’m here to be the devil’s advocate, not your mirror.”

“You’re still a Persona though.”

“But not yours, strictly speaking, merely an…accompanying Shadow.  A Persona is a reflection of your soul, and I’m definitely not that.  See, Pharah, you’re always looking for that bird’s-eye view, always wanting to get every perspective on things.  And that’s what I’m here for, to make you look at things from a different perspective, to give you a little nudge.”

“So, like I said, why are you here?  What do I need to know now?”

“Pharah, I am here to tell you one thing, and one thing only,” Anubis growls as he leans forwards again.  This time his fangs are bared, just barely brushing against Fareeha’s left ear.  She can smell the black fur on his face and she realizes that it reeks of blood.

“You cannot afford to be that stupid again, or soon I will be weighing your soul, and it just may be heavier than a feather.”

Anubis sinks his fangs into her neck and snaps it like a twig just as Fareeha jolts awake, sweat pouring down her back.  She slowly puts a hand to her throat; no puncture wounds, no bandages.  The only thing that hurts is her abdomen, heavily wrapped in layers of gauze and tape under the mint green hospital gown.  She carefully leans back onto the bed and lets out a sigh.

 _Rest_ , a different voice beckons her, _it hastens the body to mend what has been torn apart._  

“That…sounds nice…” she whispers as she drifts back into slumber, dreaming of a golden falcon soaring through the skies. 

 ---

Lena stands hesitantly in front of the door to Satya’s new dorm room, a plate of salad balanced on the tips of her left hand.  She glances down; at her feet is a small bowl of soup, mostly full.  She raps three times on the door with her right.

“Satya, love? You doin’ alright in there?” No sound comes from the other side of the door.  Lena sighs.

“It’s been a few days, Satya, and you’ve barely touched your food.  We’re all worried about you, you know.  I know you feel really bad about the whole Vishkar thing, but please, it’s not healthy to stay cooped up like that.  We’d all feel a lot better if you at least went down to see Dr. Ziegler. She and Torbjörn have a new arm prosthetic they want to try out for you.”  Still nothing.  Lena kneels down and swaps the soup with the salad.

“I…I get it, Satya.  I know how it feels to know that you caused something horrible to happen, that’s it’s all your fault.  If you want to talk, I’m always here.  I’ll take the soup and leave you some fresh food. If I don’t see you at supper tonight, I’ll swing by with some grub afterwards. See ya later, love.”

Lena waits for a moment at the door, hoping that Satya will take her up on her offer to talk, but there is still only silence.  She walks away from the door, slowly, and when she gets to the end of the hallway she looks back one last time to Satya’s room.  The salad sits untouched in the hallway, the only indicator that someone is even living in one of the rooms – _I told them not to make her feel isolated_ , Lena thinks.  Dejected, Lena leaves Satya by herself again.

After a few minutes, Satya cracks open the door to her room.  Her hair is down but tangled, and her eyes dry and bloodshot. She doesn’t quite fill out the old Overwatch standard issue black t-shirt and sweats that she found in the closet in her new room, but it’s better than the heavily singed dresses and suits left in her old room.  She quickly retrieves the salad Lena left her and closes the door.

The new room is smaller than her previous room, but it feels much larger without any of her belongings.  There’s only a metal twin bed with thin black blankets in the corner furthest from the door, a cheap empty plywood desk just to Satya’s right, Oasis sitting on an equally cheap wooden chair in front of the desk and tracing hard-light shapes in the air, and a window with a view to the jagged rocks jutting out from the ocean’s surface.  Satya gently slides the plate of salad onto the desk and meanders back to the bed.  She flops down onto it, the blankets still warm from her latest pity nap, but oily from being in constant contact with human skin for several days. 

“Lena is correct,” Oasis says as she picks up the plate and floats over to Satya, “You are experiencing adverse health effects from secluding yourself and not getting enough nutrition.  Someone might break down the door and drag you to the medical ward if you stay on like this.”

“They don’t need to waste their time,” Satya grumbles as she turns her back to Oasis, “They shouldn’t have me around anyway.”

“Satya, this behavior solves nothing.”

“Unfortunate.”

“We have been over this already, and you will always lose this argument, so can we fast forward to the part where you let yourself eat some food? Please?”  Satya sighs, turns back towards Oasis, and sits up.  The Persona hands her the plate and summons a hard-light fork for her.  Satya rests the plate of her lap and takes the fork; she stabs the leafy greens several times, but makes no effort to actually eat anything.

“I’d rather not guilt you into eating it either,” Oasis says, peering down at the architech.  Satya’s eyebrow twitches and she takes a bite of the salad.  The greens are fresh (most likely from Bastion and Zenyatta’s garden), and the dressing is light and refreshing, but just tart enough that it added a kick to the inherent blandness.  It’s good enough that she eats a few more bites, but only a few.  She sets down the fork on the plate and hands it back to Oasis.  Oasis crosses all four pairs of her arms, but she eventually uncrosses one pair and takes the plate.

“Well, it was more than the soup.  What will you do now, Satya?”

“Sleep.”  Satya lies back down and turns back towards the wall.

“That’s not what I mea-“ Oasis says, but Satya has already fallen asleep.  Oasis sighs silently as she opens the door and places the plate of salad on the ground.  If only she could eat too.


	11. These Things Take TIme

Fareeha had forgotten what the sun felt like. 

Its rays burn against her skin and blind her view, but she is exceptionally grateful that afternoon to feel it again for the first time in almost two weeks.  Dr. Ziegler had been thorough in detailing the aftercare of the wound, and sure, Fareeha is thankful that such a talented doctor as Dr. Ziegler was working for Overwatch, but cabin fever had been starting to set in.   

Fareeha sits down on the small patch of grass by the edge of the cliff and watches the ocean waves swell and crash against the rocks below.  She can smell the ocean from up on the cliff, such a foreign scent to her after being imprisoned in the doctor’s antiseptic fiefdom.  The air feels heavy, dense with water vapor and salt, like Fareeha could take a bite of it and tear off a piece of atmosphere like it was cotton candy.  She _loves_ it.

Fareeha carefully lies down onto the grass, putting her weight on her hands, then her elbows, and finally rolling her back down.  Not a cloud in the sky, just the vast blue tarp that stretches on for miles and miles around the world.  Blue, the same exact shade of blue as Satya’s nail polish –

Fareeha’s smile fades when she thinks about the architech.  Dr. Ziegler had confessed to her a few days earlier where Satya was and that she was deeply concerned for Satya’s health.  How years and years of guilt had culminated and finally caught up with her.

“I’ve only managed to speak to her a few times since Vishkar attacked,” Angela had said, not looking up from her suddenly fidgeting hands, “and whenever I bring up your name, she just shuts down.  Psychology is not my field of expertise, but I’m concerned that she’ll react to you negatively in her mental state right now.  Yet in order for her to move forward, I think she needs to know that you’re okay and recovering, from you.”

 _Well, might as well let her know right now_ , Fareeha thinks as she gingerly picks herself up off the ground.  She goes back into the compound and weaves through the maze of metal hallways to Satya’s new room.  Along the way, she passes by her own room and the burned-out wreckage that was Satya’s.  It still smells of burnt plastic a little, but a quick glance inside reveals that it’s been mostly cleared of debris.  She doesn’t know what Winston’s going to do about the huge holes covered by clear plastic and burn marks that scar the walls though.  Those look a little permanent to her.

After that minor detour, she eventually makes it to Satya’s room, in the dark corridor of unused dorms.  There’s a half-eaten veggie burger and some fries with honey mustard sauce on a plate in front of the door.  Fareeha’s stomach grumbles rudely. 

 _That’s embarrassing_ , she thinks as she moves to knock on the door.  Instead, a liquid chrome hand phases through the steel and covers Fareeha’s fist.  Fareeha is gently pushed back as the rest of Oasis phases through the door.

“Hi…Oasis…” Fareeha whispers, looking up at the Persona.  She’d seen a little of the news footage from Iraq on her way to Gibraltar, but like that very first hard light construction all those months ago, it had never been in person.  This was something else, something transcendent.  The Persona puts a finger to her lips to shush her and leads her out of the corridor, gently dragging Fareeha behind her.  She stops at the intersection of the two hallways and turns back to Fareeha.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant,” Oasis says, “I am Oasis, the Persona of Satya Vaswani.”

Fareeha hesitates when Oasis calls her by her title with a voice that sounds almost exactly like Satya’s.  It echoes in her mind a little, as if the words were pliable like putty, the sound waves stretched out unnaturally.  She had gotten so close to Satya, and yet she was so far away now.

“I know that you want to see Satya, and that you are worried for her, but I am unsure if Satya would react…kindly to your appearance.  You are aware that she feels guilt over all that has happened?”

“That’s kinda what I thought was going on, based on what Angela and the others told me, but I – “

“Wanted her to know that you are alive, recovering, and most of all, safe,” Oasis interrupts, “You are very kind, Lieutenant.  I am glad that she, and therefore I, know you.  But, as the doctor said, there may be adverse consequences.  And before you ask, no I was not snooping on you.  Ziegler is just a very loud thinker sometimes, and I cannot help but hear her musings.”

Fareeha closes her eyes, takes in a deep breath and slowly lets it out through her nose.  _I’m not angry at Angela for saying that Satya might not want to see me, and I’m not angry at Oasis for agreeing_ , she thinks.  _I am not angry at Satya for what has happened, or how she is reacting.  I am concerned for Satya, and I am frustrated that I cannot verify that she is in good health._

When she opens her eyes, Fareeha looks up to a contemplative Oasis.  She doesn’t know how she recognizes the expression as “contemplative” when she can’t even see half of the Persona’s face, but the body language is there.  Fareeha opens her mouth, but then shuts it. “You already know what I’m going to say.”

“Yes, I suppose that is my forte, but it is better for you to say it, in a literal manner of speaking.”

“Alright.  I am worried about Satya. I am sad that she may not want to see me. I am frustrated that it may not be the best idea to see her right now, and I would prefer to hear it straight from her, but if her Persona is telling me that it would trigger something bad, I will not see her right now.”

“Also…” Fareeha looks down, her face heating up a little, “I’ve been lonely without her.  I miss talking to her.”

 Oasis doesn’t move for a few moments, but then she smiles and takes Fareeha’s head in two of her hands.  She bends down and presses her helmet against Fareeha’s forehead.  The Egyptian is surprised how cool and almost _liquidlike_ it feels. 

 _Thank you, Lieutenant_ , Oasis’s voice whispers in Fareeha’s mind.  _I am so very happy that we are loved.  Satya can feel some of this exchange by her connection through me, so know that your message got through in one way or another._

 _You can call me Fareeha too, you know_ , Fareeha thinks back.  Oasis shivers a little, her pantomime of chuckling.

 _Please just wait a little longer,_ Oasis says.  And with that, Oasis fades away, going translucent, then transparent, and finally she’s gone.  Fareeha puts the back of her right hand to her forehead, as if expecting shiny silver liquid to still be there. There’s only sweat.

“I’ll wait for you,” Fareeha says to no one in particular. 

 

Oasis rematerializes in Satya’s room, hovering beside the architech’s bedside.

“How much of that did you get?” the Persona asks the unmoving body under the blanket.

“She’s concerned,” Satya whispers hesitantly, “and she’s healing.”

“Will you see her soon?”

“Hopefully I will be able to muster up that courage.  I miss her too.”

\---

To Fareeha’s credit, she really did try to wait.  She waited three days, to be exact.

Between healing from her own injuries and running her own errands, it’s all she can do to not sprint down to Satya’s room, burst in, and just _make sure_ she’s alright.  Angela’s been able to visit her, check on her health, but Satya won’t talk about Fareeha.  Her meal runners – usually Lena, sometimes Zenyatta – tell her that she’s been more open.  She’ll greet them at the door, she’s eating more, she’s been keeping up her hygiene – but when they ask her if she’d like to see Fareeha, she doesn’t give them an answer.  She doesn’t answer and that’s the end of it.

So a few days after her encounter with Oasis, Fareeha ambushes Zenyatta in the kitchen getting Satya’s breakfast, a simple meal of strawberry yogurt, grapes, and toast.  She grabs him by the shoulders while he’s picking the green grapes off their stems, turns him, and looks him in his nine eyes. He lets out a metallic sigh and merely nods. 

“I will try something.  Keep your communicator handy on you today,” he says as he turns back and continues preparing breakfast.  Fareeha gives him a heartfelt thanks and leaves him to his business.  The Omnic plucks off the rest of the grapes from the bunch in his hand and begins his morning trek down to Satya’s room.

On the way there, Zenyatta turns on his internal communicator, a minor addition he installed upon his arrival on the Watchpoint.  He pings not his student, but his student’s brooding brother instead.

 _Zenyatta: Greetings._  
_Hanzo: Greetings._  
_Zenyatta: Would you happen to have a Go set that I could borrow?_  
_Hanzo: For what purpose?_  
_Zenyatta: It’s for Satya._  
_Hanzo: I understand.  When do you need it?_  
_Zenyatta: Soon.  Is that possible?_  
_Hanzo: That is fine.  Where do you need me to bring it?_  
_Zenyatta: That is to be determined.  I’ll let you know._

Zenyatta turns off the messenger as he approaches Satya’s door.  To his surprise, it is open; Satya is seated at the desk scrolling through a book on the tablet he had brought her a few days ago.  She looks better than she has in recent days, still eternally exhausted, but the bags under her eyes are no longer as prominent and her clothes don’t hang quite as loosely.  Lena loaned her some clothes, so now instead of the standard issue black Overwatch uniform, she wears London novelty t-shirts and sweatpants.  Today’s combo appears to be a simple white t-shirt with a stylized “LONDON” graphic, light blue fleece sweatpants, and simple black slippers.  Being an Omnic, Zenyatta doesn’t really understand the concept of being “comfy” in clothing, but he supposes this is what it would look like.

It also helps that Torbjörn gave her a new arm the same day Lena gave her an entire wardrobe.  Although the sheen of steel looks unusual where white plastic once was, an arm is an arm no matter the material.    

Satya notices the glint of Zenyatta’s head in the corner of her eye and looks up at him peeking his head through the doorway.

“Good morning Zenyatta.  The air in here was getting stale.”

“I see.  It is always good to air out things every now and then,” he muses, floating into her room and setting the plate of breakfast on the desk. “Satya, may I propose another change of pace today?”  Satya’s eyebrows furrow a little bit and her hands tense a bit.  “Have you played Go before?”

“The Japanese board game?”

“Yes, that one.  I thought that we might play while you have breakfast.  Would the upper common areas be a good spot for you?”

Satya hesitates.  It’s been almost two weeks since she’s left her room, safety, self-imposed isolation.  But there’s a push and a shove from within (perhaps forced by eight ethereal hands) and a whisper about progress.  _Let the sun see you again_.  Satya nods her affirmation to Zenyatta, who hums happily and beckons her to follow him.  She rises from her seat, taking her food in one hand and her tablet in the other.

The duo meander up to their destination slowly, Satya following after Zenyatta’s slow floating.  At one intersection Genji pops out from around a corner and heads towards them.  Satya doesn’t make eye contact and fidgets with the end of her shirt a little bit as he greets them silently with a small nod.  She lets out a small exhale when she looks back and sees him turn another corner.  Zenyatta looks back at her but she smiles at him and walks at his side.  “It’s alright, Zenyatta, I’m okay.”

When they make it to the common area, it is empty that morning, the metal tables and mesh chairs spread out around the room.  There are several large wooden boards of varying sizes, two small wooden pots and a small book on a table next to the gigantic northern window.  They make their way to the table and sit down. 

“What do you know about Go?” Zenyatta asks Satya.

“I’m afraid to admit that I don’t know much,” she replies after she takes a bite of toast, “I am aware of its importance in the development of artificial intelligence in the early part of this century, and I know that it is similar to chess.  That is as far as my knowledge on it goes.  I have been meaning to learn how to play for a while now, actually.”

“Perfect,” Zenyatta says.  He flips through the handbook, an English language player’s manual, and sets it back down open to a page with several graphs.  Next, he opens both pots, looks inside them, and slides one over to Satya.  She too looks inside and finds it filled with small black stones.

“We’ll start by going over the basic rules,” Zenyatta continues as he places the smallest of the boards, a sandalwood board with a 9x9 grid painted in black on it. “Unlike chess, black goes first.  You can place your stone on any vertex on the board.”

He points at Satya’s stone pot and looks at her.  She takes a stone between her index finger and thumb, rubs it between her fingers admiring the smoothness of the stone, and lightly sets it in the dead center of the board.  Zenyatta lifts a finger, and a white stone from his pot hovers out of the pot and settles on the vertex directly above the black stone.

“Black and white take turns placing stones on the board.  If a stone of one color is surrounded by the opponent’s stones, the surrounded stones are captured by the opponent and taken out of the game.”  Three more white stones float and surround the black stone, and the black stone too hovers off the board and lands beside the white stone pot, on the upturned lid.   “Of course, capturing your enemy is not the point of the game.  The true goal is to control as much territory as possible on the board, as whoever owns more territory, wins the game.”  All but one of the white stones moves back to the pot, and the black stone is replaced to its original location, leaving only one black and one white stone back where they started.

“I see…” Satya says, furrowing her brow in concentration.  The phrase “deceptively simple” bubbles up in her thoughts.

“There are a few formations in this handbook that depict some of the nuances to the rules.  Let’s go through them, and then we can start a proper practice game,” Zenyatta says.  Satya nods, and for the next hour or so the pair sit at the table, stones between fingers, working through the common formations on the board.  The stones carry life and are subject to death, Satya discovers, can climb stairs and be caught in nets, have liberties that measure their life and eyes that keep them alive.  By the time they’ve gone through the basics, Satya is amazed at how much potential these pieces of rock carry.  They’re almost human.

“Can we play a full game?” Satya asks as she finishes the last of her toast once they’ve gone through the examples in the handbook. 

“Sure,” Zenyatta replies, “Let’s start with the 9x9 for a shorter game, then we can work our way up to the full board.  Handicaps or no?”

“No handicaps, I want to start with a clean slate.”

“Ah, I expected as much.  Very well, let’s start.”

Satya places a black stone in the dead center of the board once again, this time picking it up between index and middle finger.  A white stone floats over the board and lands three full squares away.  Another black stone. Another white stone. Back and forth, back and forth.  Click, clack, click, clack.

The game ends in Zenyatta’s victory by a decisive breach through a hole in one of Satya’s chains.  He walks Satya through the post-game review, explaining his tactics and where she had slipped in her defense.  She challenges him to another game, this time on a larger 13x13 board.  As she swaps the boards though, her thumb rubs across an imperfection on the side of the board: a small, amateur carving reading 源氏.  She can’t read kanji, but she shows it to Zenyatta, who merely hums thoughtfully. 

“The Japanese reading of the kanji would be ‘Genji’,” he chuckles.

“Like your student?”

“Yes, the very one, but it is his brother who currently possesses these boards, presumably taken from their family home.  How curious, I would not have taken Genji to have been a fan of this game in his youth, given what he has told me of his youth. 

Another game passes by, and it’s a close one, but once again Zenyatta comes out victorious.  By the time they’re done reviewing the post-game, it’s lunch time.  Satya gets up from the chair to stretch; her joints crack dangerously as she straightens her legs. 

“Would you like to play another game in a few hours?” Zenyatta asks her, “I messaged Hanzo after the first game and he said we could leave the game pieces here.” 

“Maybe.  Thank you for making me get out of my room, it was time but I…” she trails off.

“I understand.  I am glad that you were able to make that first step.  Also, it seems we have a visitor.” Zenyatta waves at the figure in the doorway holding a plate of food.  “Come in, Lúcio.”

Satya flinches at the name of her (former) archenemy.  What was once associated with a barrier of progress is now just a massive source of guilt.  Flashbacks race through her mind – the fire in Rio, the subsequent oppression of its people, the attempted assassination in Oasis, and again right here.   

 _Stop and listen what he has to say_ , Oasis interrupts.

“Hey, Zen. Hey, Vaswani,” Lúcio says hesitantly, “I’m glad that you got out of your room.  Everyone’s been worried sick about you.  Oh yeah, I almost forgot: Zen, I think Rein was looking for you?  He said he was cleaning out one of the old storage closets and found some tools that he thought you might find useful for your garden.”

“Thank you for letting me know, I’ll go check that out,” Zenyatta says, nodding a goodbye to Satya as he floats out of the room.  It is awkwardly silent in the room once the monk leaves.  Neither Lúcio nor Satya try to make eye contact.

“…anyway, Vaswani, it was my turn to make lunch today, and Zen said I could find you here, so...it’s beans and rice and _pastels_ filled with cheese.”

“Ah…thank you.”

“Yeah…hey, listen, I know you gotta take this step by step, so I’ll leave the food here with you, but there’s a bunch of us back down in the kitchen eating together, and you’re always welcome to sit with us for lunch – aw geez, now I sound like we’re in primary school or something.” Lúcio pinches the bridge of his nose in embarrassment.

“Seriously, you’re one of us, you know.  We’re part of Overwatch, defenders of justice and all that,” he continues, “If you feel guilty about everything that’s happened between us because of Vishkar, I understand, but I honestly don’t see you as an enemy anymore, not since Oasis.  So, you shouldn’t think that I unconditionally hate you.”  He takes a deep breath before he finishes.

“I forgive you, Vaswani.  I know that Vishkar basically raised you, but they also manipulated your talents and good faith for their own goals and convinced you to do horrible things.  You went out of your way to protect us against them though, and I think that speaks volumes for how much you’ve grown.”

Satya is statue still, her stare boring holes into the floor.  Lúcio looks at the architech for a moment more, but gives a little shrug and places the plate of food on the table. 

“Okay, I’m just gonna leave this here, and you can have lunch wherever’s most comfortable with you.  Just leave the dishes and silverware in the kitchen sink when you’re done if you decide to not join us, it’s okay.”

He turns back to the door, and just as he walks out he hears her say “Thank you.”  He turns back to her and sees her wearing a grateful smile, tears in her eyes.

 “Thank you for bringing the food.  If it’s okay, I’ll probably just eat it up here, but thank you for inviting me.”

“Oh yeah, any time.  Enjoy your meal, Vaswani.”

“You too, dos Santos.”

Lúcio walks out of the room, and Satya sits down to eat the meal he brought her.  The generous helpings of beans and rice are filling, and the _pastel_ is sweet and unhealthy, but it leaves Satya happy.  She’s never been one to follow the rule that the more something is deep-fried, the better it’ll make you feel once you eat it, but for this meal she can make an exception.    The meal sits happily in her stomach when she’s finished, and she rests for a little bit in the silent common room.  The sun is high in the sky, its reflection glimmering on the ocean

When Satya does go down to the kitchen to leave the dirty dishes, no one is there, the dirty dishes in the old dishwasher the only indication that other humans had had a meal in here. She slots her plate neatly in between two others on the bottom rack and starts the dishwasher.  It churns to life loudly, and Satya absentmindedly wonders how long it’s been since someone has done any maintenance on it.  Just for a moment, though.

Zenyatta hasn’t messaged her yet on her tablet telling her that he’s ready for another round of Go, so Satya wanders around the base and ends up outside for the first time in almost two weeks, out of the rooms built into the cliffside and onto the shuttle loading area underneath Winston’s office.  The salt of the ocean hits her nose the hardest, and even though sunlight did come into her room every day, the heat did not.  She can almost feel it burning against her skin in its typical grueling Gibraltar summer fashion.

Satya finds solace from the sun by moving from one building’s shadow to another, sprinting in between unconnected swaths of shade when necessary.  It’s hard to breathe in such dense humid heath though, and she is quickly out of breath.  She stops under a bridge and looks up to the top of a building embedded in one of the cliffsides, a winding path of stairs built into the rock connecting it to Satya’s level.  On the roof are rows of sprouts in a plot of soil kept square by wooden planks and a nearby wooden shed, unusually organic fixtures in a place that is mostly stone and metal. Satya sees that Zenyatta is watering several of the plants, and Fareeha is gently putting down what appears to be soil –

“Fareeha,” Satya whisper unconsciously, and she immediately freezes in place, tries to meld into the shadow that she’s taken refuge in, remove her presence or whatever “ninja way” stuff Genji told her about once.  As she suspected, it doesn’t look.

On one hand, she’s so, so, _so_ happy to Fareeha alive and well.  On the other, the guilt bubbles back up and claws at her throat from the inside.  So many voice in her mind speak at once.  _You don’t deserve this, not after what you’ve done – I never meant for that to happen – intent and impact are independent of each other – I want to be with my friend again – you HURT her – I want to tell her I’m sorry –_ back and forth, back and forth.

Her tablet vibrates, grounding her back into the present.  She looks down at it; someone has sent her a message.

 _Zenyatta: I see that you’ve found us.  Would you like to join us?_  
_Vaswani: How much of this was planned?_  
_Zenyatta: To be honest, I was improvising the whole time, but yes, the games of Go, Lúcio bringing you lunch, and this moment were arranged by myself._  
_Zenyatta: May I tell you a secret?_  
_Zenyatta: Fareeha is the reason I asked to play Go with you today, outside of your room.  She wants to talk to you and make sure that you’re alright._  
_Zenyatta: Satya, you did not fire the gun that sent a bullet through her, therefore you did not injure her.  You are not to blame for this.  She can tell you as much.  I think she already has tried to, anyway.  You are dear to her and she is dear to you._  
_Zenyatta: I won’t force you to come up here and talk to her.  That is always your choice.  But I think in order to heal and move on, you must reach out to her again so that you can bring some normalcy back into your life._

Satya doesn’t respond.  She stays in the shadows, watching the omnic water a line of carrots and Fareeha gently pat down some soil in a new, unsprouted bed.  She’s so close, yet so far away, up on the roof of a building that Satya could get to just by taking the stairs. 

A few minutes after he sends the last message, Zenyatta glances down at the shadow where he saw Satya hiding, but he doesn’t see her.  He is initially disappointed until the soft taps of slippers on the metal staircase leading up to the roof catches both his and Fareeha’s attention.  Satya ascends the stairs, stopping at the stop and staring at Zenyatta, then Fareeha.  The omnic puts down the watering can and floats past Satya down the stairs, slightly nodding at her.

 _What do I say?_ Fareeha and Satya think.

“You’re alright,” they say at the same time to each other.  There’s an awkward silence, a nervous chuckle out of Fareeha, and then more silence.  Satya is lightly fidgeting with the fabric of her shirt, unable to think of what to say.  What exactly _was_ she going to say?  What was she going to do again? Did she even have a plan for this, oh gods -

“Okay, I really, really, _really_ want to hug you, but I can’t put a whole lot of pressure on my abdomen.  Doctor’s orders,” Fareeha says first, “Can we talk or something?”

Satya slowly walks over to Fareeha and sits down beside her by the garden, looking down at her fidgeting hands.  Her heart is racing, one single repeating thought going a mile a minute in her mind, _guilt guilt guilt guilt guilt guilt_.

“Can I hold your hands?” Fareeha asks.  Satya flinches at the question, but she nods.  Fareeha gently takes Satya’s mismatched hands in her own, her thumbs lightly gliding over the metal of the left and the cool skin of the right.  The right hand feels a little more bony than she remembers, and again she’s worried. 

“I’m sorry,” Satya says, looking up at Fareeha, “I was so distraught over my own reflections of everything that has passed that I avoided you and basically everyone else, even if the reason you were injured was tangentially caused by my actions.”

“Never apologize for taking your time,” Fareeha replies, “I don’t want you to half-ass anything just because I can’t wait for a little while.”  Satya smiles a little at that.  She flexes her hands in Fareeha’s grip, not caring about the soil rubbing off onto her palms that would normally cause her to immediately whip out a sanitizing wipe.

“Do you blame me?  For your wound?” Satya asks, looking down to the two pairs of hands, intertwined.

“No.”  A stronger grip on a metal hand, resolute in confidence.

“Even if I blame myself?”

“Still no, and I would do anything in my power to make you see that they hurt you just as much, if not more, than I was.”  Fareeha’s grip gets a little tighter.  It feels safe.

“And will you wait as I take my time in coming to that conclusion?”

“I would wait forever and I would be there every step of the way.”  Satya feels her face heat up and she looks up at the Egyptian, who suddenly seems to be very interested in the patch of dirt next to her, her eyes obscured by some hair that has fallen out of her short ponytail.  Before she can stop herself, Satya reaches out to brush it behind Fareeha’s ear, and the architech sees the soldier’s eyes widen just a little bit. 

“That is quite the promise, Fareeha.”

“Oh, I know,” Fareeha says with a toothy grin, dazzling as the sun up above.  “So, are we kinda cool now?  Can we hang out again?”

“Yes, we are ‘kinda cool’.  Thank you.”  Satya could be here for the rest of her life, sun on her back, holding hands with Fareeha on the fence of a small community garden for the world’s greatest vigilantes.  A contented hum echoes in her mind and she hears Oasis whisper to her.

_And so you will grow like the fruit in this garden.  And so you will live like a black or white stone.  Take what you love and never let it go._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edit: forgot to say this, but next update is going to be another pair of intermissions


	12. Intermission 2, Part 1: ____ ___ Walking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> who needs sleep?

It is midnight when Soldier gives up trying to go to sleep.  Every time he closes his eyes, a million thoughts come to him at once and he doesn’t want to pick and probe every one of them just to get some shut eye.  Too many grabbing hands, bloodied and broken.  Sighing, he sits up from his bed and drags a hand across his scarred face.  He’s grateful it doesn’t hurt anymore.

Soldier stands up from the bed and walks over to the closet.  He slides open the door, picks out a black t-shirt and jeans, and changes into them.  He grabs the mask from his bedside table and clasps it onto his face, tinging his world red.  He throws on a pair of boots and leaves his room.  The corridor is mostly quiet; he can pick up the faint hum of electronics and Hana speaking Korean, so she’s probably streaming.  He silently walks past her room and out of the hallway, heading towards the kitchen.

When he gets to the kitchen, he discovers that he is not alone in his insomnia.  Hanzo is seated at one of the tables, drinking tea, reading a paperback book.  The archer glances at him, then back to his book.  Soldier ignores him and walks to the coffeemaker, checking the water level in the carafe.  It seems fine, so he opens the cabinet above him and fishes for some plain ground coffee and filters.  As he puts in the filter and the coffee into the coffeemaker, he feels like he’s being watched.  He sighs internally; the Shimadas are too smart, too observant for their own good.

When Soldier had first introduced himself to the new Overwatch, he had noticed the Shimadas observing him closely.  Like they were trying to put a name to a face they hadn’t seen in many years.  They had been wary of him ever since, but if anyone else noticed their cool behavior, they hadn’t said anything.

Soldier turns on the coffeemaker, and the loud bubbling of water boiling drowns out his train of thought.  He still feels the eyes on his back.  He has half a mind to just turn around and ask Hanzo what his fu-

“I’ve met someone like you before,” Hanzo says.

Soldier turns around to face the source of the voice and leans back against the counter.  “Excuse me?”

“I said, I’ve met someone like you before.  It was when I saw my father die almost 20 years ago.”

“Are you trying to insinuate something?”

“Hm, perhaps.  Do you know how my father died, Soldier?”

“Stabbed to death by one of his business partners who resented his wealth and power, if I recall?”

“You are talking about Nakashima-san, the ‘business partner’ that was being paid by your Overwatch, yes?”

Soldier doesn’t say anything.  Hanzo sighs and continues.

“It’s water under the bridge, as you would say.  I wouldn’t say that my father died from the stab wounds though.  Tell me Soldier, did you ever see Nakashima-san’s body?”

“Yeah, and it actually made me sick.  I didn’t think the human body could look like that.  Your old man’s goons were some sick bastards.”

“They didn’t do that to him.  My father did.”

The room is dead silent.  The coffeemaker has a fresh pot of coffee ready, but Soldier isn’t ready to drink it just yet.

“What?” Soldier asks.

“We gave you that explanation to protect the Shimada clan’s secret.  The only time we even touched Nakashima’s body was when we were about to send It back to your Overwatch.”

“So, what’s the real story?”

Hanzo grimaces.

“The months leading up to my father’s assassination were very stressful for him.  My brother was becoming a problem in the eyes of the clan elders.  Overwatch’s anti-yakuza raids were costing him decades’ worth of investments every single day.  To top it all off, he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer only a week before his death.  The doctor told him he had about a month left.  He wasn’t in the best mental health at the time.

But if there was anything that helped him manage the stress, it was his family and friends.  Some of his business partners were also his dearest friends, and that included Nakashima-san.  So when Nakashima-san betrayed him, he was devastated.  Can you imagine what he felt like?”

“Unfortunately, I can.”   

“I was outside my father’s office when I heard it happen.  Nakashima had stabbed my father in the gut.  I ran inside to see Nakashima-san thrust the knife into my father’s stomach three more times, his hands covered in blood.  The look on my father’s face, I’ll never forget it.  He asked Nakashima-san why he did it.  Nakashima-san just laughed, like it was all a game to him.  He told my father that his eternal vacation was starting a few weeks early.

I think that’s when my father finally broke.  I saw him summon his dragon, but it didn’t look right.  It was in a rage like I’d never seen before, and it had an ominous, shadowy aura around it.  The dragon is what killed Nakashima-san.  And then it turned on my father, and it saved his life at the price of his soul.”

“I’m not following.”

“It was a parasite, Soldier.  It took my father’s soul and inhabited his body, but it was in such a rage that it attacked me.  My father’s dragon in my father’s body attacking the father’s son.  I was lucky that Genji was in the building when it happened.  He got to us just in time to stop the dragon from ripping me in half.  It was easily the worst fight of my life, and not just because we had to kill the man who raised us.  The dragon, it turned his body into a Shadow.  What we killed that day wasn’t human anymore.”

“I see.  So what does this have to do with me?”

“You know perfectly well, Shadow.”

Soldier goes deathly still.

“What happened to Jack Morrison?”

Soldier does not move for a moment, but then he undoes the clasps on his mask, and puts it on the kitchen counter.  The air in front of his face shifts, and Hanzo Shimada becomes the third person in the world to see the scarred face of the corpse of Jack Morrison.  The entire lower half of his face is mutilated, burned and scarred a deep red, along with the trademark slash across his face.

“He died in Geneva, when the HQ was blown to pieces,” Soldier says, his voice raspier than usual, “He was crushed under the rubble.  Even if he had survived without me, he would’ve been in a coma for the rest of his life.  He was confused, upset, _betrayed_ , and from that despair was I summoned.  Regardless of how the world made him out to be, he really was trying to bring about peace and justice.  I felt as much from him.  He had so much more to accomplish, so I gave him a second chance.”

 “I did not know Jack Morrison was a Persona user,” Hanzo says.

“He didn’t either, not until he was about to die.”

“Does anyone else know about this?

“Ana can spot a lie a mile away.  Fareeha’s just as good.  They agreed not to tell anyone.  What about you?”

“My brother will have to know this.  How can I trust that you won’t go berserk on us?”

“I’m only as deadly as Jack Morrison was.  I had never seen battle until he died.”

“Jack Morrison was pretty deadly.”

“Would you prefer a dragon?” 

Hanzo shakes his head.

“I suppose that’s settled then,” Soldier says, reapplying the illusion on his face.  He turns back to the coffeemaker and pours himself a cup of coffee.  It’s cooled down, but it’s still warm enough that he can feel the heat of it through the mug.  “I don’t mind Genji knowing about this, by the way.  Anything else, Hanzo?”

“No.  Thank you for satisfying my curiosity and for alleviating my concerns.”

Soldier nods to him and leaves the kitchen with his coffee and mask in hand, not keen on answering more questions.  He walks back to his room, passing by Hana’s now silent room before entering his own.  He sets the mug and mask on the nightstand and changes back into pajamas.  The memory of the day Jack died, the day he, Soldier, was born, now fresh again in his mind, replays again and again.

_Smoke and dust and screams.  A man grasping at my feet, the lower half of his face just…missing.  I kneel and look the dying man in his bright blue eyes.  His hair is blond, but it’s turning white and receding.  Tears are flowing freely across his wrinkled and bloody face.  His entire lower body has been crushed under the concrete.  I take his face into my hands and see his past._

_Golden fields of corn. A war, disastrous but ultimately victorious.  A wish for peace, equality, harmony.  A betrayal foul and deadly.  And yet, over halfway through his lifespan, this man – Jack Morrison – still has more to give.  More time to serve to the people of the world._

_I am thou.  Thou art I.  I can give your body a second chance but know that I will walk in your skin.  I will be the soldier you once were.  Do you accept?  The man nods,_

_and Jack dies._

It plays again when Soldier finishes the coffee.  Again, but fuzzier, when he brushes his teeth.  Again, but softer, when he lies down on his bed.  He closes his eyes, and the memory replays yet again, but he watches it from farther away, and the chaos that he saw that day dies out in white noise as he finally falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> part 2 tomorrow afternoon


	13. Intermission 2, Part 2: Gimme The Prize

“Remind me why I’m doing this?” Sombra groans irritably as her fingers fly over the paper thin purple keyboard.  She rubs at her nose, clearing away a bit of the dust permeating the air in the cramped, filthy former Overwatch safehouse.  She gives Overwatch some credit for forcing her to personally bridge the air gap, but it was still annoying as hell to drive all the way out here, only to have some rando leap out from the doorway and nearly blast her head off the moment she got within a foot of the doorway.  Unfortunately for the poor man, he was on Reaper’s grudge list.

Reaper leans on the wall behind her, looking at the bloody claws on his gloves like they’re regular human fingernails.  A bloody, decapitated body leans against his legs.

“I need evidence to bring to the council so they can stop wasting their time trying to investigate something that isn’t happening, and to start looking at the company who actually pose a threat to us,” Reaper sighs, “We’re wasting so many resources on trying to figure out whether or not Overwatch is trying to exploit the Persona that we’re ignoring the corporation that has told us _to our faces_ that they’re very interested in doing the same.”

“Why do we care what other people do with those things?  I don’t really see how that’s any of our business?”

“You’re the hacker.  Figure it out.”

“Was actually hoping that a council member could explain it to me, but sure, let me hack into my employer’s systems to satisfy my morbid curiosity about why we, a terrorist organization, are suddenly acting like we’re protecting something,” Sombra snarks.  Reaper chuckles at that.

“Please, Sombra, don’t make me laugh.  Number one job requirement for any Talon position is sociopathy, and you have that in spades.”

Sombra waves her right hand in the air and types in a few commands to the AR keyboard that shoots out of her fingertips.  The keyboard rearranges itself into a frowning smiley face, which zooms over to Reaper and sticks its tongue out at him.  Reaper brushes it out of his face like it’s smoke, and the purple electric face fizzles out.

“Alright, here you go, boss,” Sombra says, pulling up a screen on the dusty monitor in front of her, “You’re lucky the gorilla actually documents stuff. Third paragraph, quote, ‘While the research opportunities found in Personas are fascinating as there have been no known extensive studies on this rare power, at the request of [redacted] Amari, Overwatch will neither try to use the power of Persona to further our goals, nor submit any Personas or their users to scientific experiments.  It is at the discretion of the Persona user how to deal with their Persona.’”

“…good enough.  Let’s bring it to the council,” Reaper grumbles, stepping away from the wall and turning towards the door out of the safe house.  The corpse that was leaning against him flops down to the ground with a squishy splat, but no one alive flinches at the sound.  Sombra downloads the data onto her personal server and follows behind the living wraith, taking care to get as little blood on her shoes.  She’s still so curious about so very many things.

She’s the hacker.  She’ll figure it out.

\---

\---

Sombra finds the not-so-good doctor in a basement lab, late one night after Reaper successfully pulls Talon off Overwatch’s back about Personas.  The Irish woman is hunched over a pile of paper spreadsheets and nursing a mug of hot tea – chai, from what Sombra can smell.  The hacker brings up a hologram of the file she found on Lacroix and pitches it across the room like a baseball.  It phases through trays and cabinets of flasks holding living matter of questionable origin and status in liquids neon yellow and bright purple, and slides to a stop right in between Moira’s eyes and the papers she was looking at.

“Got any explanations, doctor?” Sombra says as she meanders through the lab, lightly trailing her fingernails along the black lab tables. 

“Why am I not surprised you found this,” Moira sighs, sitting up on her stool and turning to Sombra.  The geneticist has bags under her eyes, and she takes a sip of the tea from her mug, “Lacroix was Talon’s one and only foray into Persona research.  Shame that my best lab assistants died and that the council is made up of cowards, but we did get an excellent sniper out of it.”

"Sorry for your losses, but could you ‘un-redact’ the redactions for me, please, Dr. O’Deorain?” Sombra says, clasping her hands together in fake pleading, “Seeing as it looks like you literally typed out ‘[REDACTED]’ for everything, the original data was never in there to for me to ponder over, you know.  What happened to Lacroix?  What is ‘draining’ the power resources?  I just gotta know, you know?”

“Move along, Sombra,” the doctor says, slouching back over her spreadsheets, “It’s not in my interest to tell you, because you’ll cause a disaster, I’ll lose my research, and then I’ll lose my one viable chance of really researching Personas.”

“Then just move to Vishkar?”

“Are you kidding me?” Moira deadpans, not looking up from her work.  She takes a long swig of the tea and sets the mug down on the lab table.  “A corporation like Vishkar would only follow in our footsteps ever further.  They don’t understand what they want to play with, and their views on Personas are so narrow.  Their pursuit of profit is their completely expected downfall.”

“Sounds vague but would explain why the council is so riled up about other people having Personas.  You don’t sound as concerned though.”

“I admire them for growing a spine against the council, but I think they’re inherently doomed.  So, I’m just going to get some popcorn and enjoy the show.”  Moira shrugs.  “Are you going to enjoy this circus too?”

Sombra stares at the doctor for a moment, contemplating this new information.  How it could be used in the future.  What her next steps will be.  What to do right now.  She grins wickedly.

“How could I turn down a good show?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're 2/3 of the way there y'all :)


End file.
